The Battle of Belhalla
by Horace Mann
Summary: What happened at Belhalla? What happened afterwards? Just filling in the gaps with some headcanon. Partially based on FE: Binary. Azel x Tailtiu, Lex x OC, Midir x Edain, Chulainn x Ayra, Jamke x Brigid, Beowulf then Finn x Lachesis, Lewyn x Erinys, Claud x Sylvia.
1. Chapter 1

Though it was later called "the Battle of Belhalla," it was over in an instant. Surrounded by the elite Weissen Ritter and Rotten Ritter, disarmed and unsuspecting, Sigurd's army was completely unprepared. The army shuffled about in messy rank-order file. They saw Sigurd speak with Arvis. A few heard Sigurd's cry of anguish:

"Arvis, you dastard!"

A distant rumble was heard, then all hell broke loose.

From the folds of his robe, Arvis produced a deep scarlet tome. In despair, Sigurd lunged at the nobleman, but the spell finished too soon. A wall of flame crashed into Sigurd, searing off his eyebrows and much of his hair. Sigurd screamed in pain, rage, and frustration all at once, but he could not hope to overcome the fiery confluence. He was thrown to the ground and could not get up. Then the meteors began to fall.

The Weissen Ritter mages continued their spidery chants as softball-sized rocks blew craters into the ground. The mess of bodies of Sigurd's irregular swarmed like a massive beehive. Cries of confusion broke out in the ranks. One by one, the soldiers realized: they had been betrayed.

Father Claud grasped Sylvia by the hand. She trembled like a small rabbit, eyes darting back and forth across the sky. "Stay close to me!" He ordered. She nodded, holding tight to his arm. The others in the army scrambled to and fro, seeking to evade the falling debris. The smells of sweat and smoke filled Claud's nostrils, and the screams of dying men filled the air.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.

"By Saint Bragi and all the gods," Claud pleaded, "Save us from this nightmare." He held aloft his Valkyrie Staff, hoping its divine light would protect against the doom from above.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.

Beowulf had seen the wall of flame, had heard the spidery language. He now looked up at the sky and saw the fiery rocks. As everyone around him panicked, he stood completely still, and looked up with an odd peaceful look on his face. Since his dream, since Lachesis had left carrying his child, Beowulf had known his fate. It would be all right. He knew that Lachesis loved Finn. She would find her way to Leonster. He would take care of her. It was okay. His mentor Voltz had met his end because of Beowulf's betrayal. It seemed only fitting that Beowulf would likewise suffer death by betrayal. His darling Lachesis was traveling safely, and in Isaach the other women and the children were safe. Amid the smoke and screams and chaos, Beowulf was at peace. He mused to himself, "Them that take the sword shall perish by the . . . falling magical rocks." A fiery heavenly cannonball screamed toward him, darting right for his chest. A small devil-may-care grin passed Beowulf's lips as he passed into the next life.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.

At the first sign of the rumble, Erinys knew what was coming. Her pegasus was without saddle or harness, but she knew she had to escape. With one swift motion, she swung onto its back and urged it to fly, but Lewyn drew his hand to the beast's chest, calming it. His eyes were dark and stern. "You won't be able to avoid all of the meteors in the air. You'll have to just stay close to me.

A small circle of soldiers gathered around the wind sage and his wife as Lewyn produced a tome of his own: the sacred book of Forseti. Meteors darted towards the group, but with a bit of skill, Lewyn managed to deflect the incoming projectiles away with his magic. They were safe . . . for now.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.

Jamke and Brigid were side by side when they heard the meteors start to fall. Instantly, the pair produced their bows, attempting to take aim at the mages, but they were locked within the mass of irregulars. Bodies blocked their every shot. Without a word, they began to push through the bodies, seeking to end the assailants. Thunderous blasts shook the earth as the meteors collided with the ground and with soldiers. Dust flicked into Brigid's eyes. It seemed for only a moment that she reached up to wipe them, but when she blinked away the dust, Jamke was gone.

"Jamke? Jamke!" She cried, but it was no use. He had vanished. She shouted an oath, but she couldn't be distracted now. If anyone could defeat these mages, the heir of Ulir could.

She reached the outskirts of the circle, and the Holy Yewfelle was in her hands. She took aim at the first robed figure, and the arrow sang true, striking him in the lung. The figure crumpled, and Brigid aimed for another. Farther down the line, another of the Weissen Ritter was struck by an arrow. _That's Jamke_, Brigid thought to herself.

Four mages had gone down when she heard a whisper at her shoulder. "Another troublesome one."

She whirled around and confronted the voice. It was a man in a dark brownish-black cloak with a dark breastplate. She drew her bow, but the figure darted close, keeping out of range.

"Who are you?" She demanded. "Are you behind this treachery?"

The man smirked. He had a hooked nose and deep, black eyes that seemed to have no feeling behind them. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Goodbye, daughter of Ulir."

Blackness seemed to envelop her. Dark tendrils wrapped around her arms and her neck. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out, and the darkness seemed to seep in, icing her bones and twisting her insides. She wanted to curl into a little ball, but the darkness held her upright, wringing apart her very being.

A thought crossed he mind. _So this, this is Hel._ Inwardly, she sobbed for the pain to end, but instead of tears it seemed that darkness spewed from her eyes. She was going to die, and another thought crossed her mind, _better sooner than later_.

Manfroy offered a small grin of satisfaction. He picked up the fallen Yewfelle, and whisked it away magically, and then he turned and folded through space. There was still much work to be done.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.

Dew didn't know how long it had been. 3 minutes? 4 minutes? It seemed like a lifetime weaving in and out of the chaos of men and horses. Nearly two years ago he had met Sigurd and his army in the forests of Verdane. He had grown quite a bit from age 15 to 17, but now he cursed his lanky form as he tripped over yet another fallen body. He had made it near the outskirts of the army when he stepped on the broad blade of a certain sword.

He looked down quickly, but a lump caught in his throat. Beowulf lay there, most of his body horrifyingly obliterated by a meteor that must have struck right in his chest. His body lay face up, and his beloved Beo Sword lay in the mud. With trembling hands, Dew took the sword and scabbard, swiftly strapped it to his back along with the legendary Bragi Sword, and he darted toward the end of the mass of bodies.

He had reached the outskirts, and despair set in. There were maybe twenty to twenty-five elite mages of the Weissen Ritter along this side. If there were as many on the other side, plus some in the front, some in the back, there would be in total over 60 elite mages, nearly as men as there were sloppy irregulars, a ragtag group of peasants from disparate lands. In a moment, Dew's heart seemed to sink from to the bottom of his stomach. He knew. Everyone he knew was going to die.

The edge of the army bordered on a small bluff. Dew was some four or five meters from any mage. With a swift bit of calculation, he imagined he could use the bluff to obscure the mages' vision. He could dart between them and make a break for it over the open turf, hopefully find some cover.

Dew took a deep breath. And blinked away tears. "I'm sorry, everyone." He knew he was leaving them to die. He crept up from the bluff, and darted across the open grasslands. He didn't stop running for three hours.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.

Lewyn, Erinys, and another half-dozen or so soldiers were clustered around the prince of Silesse, and the group was slowly, ponderously shuffling toward the edge of the army. When they were in range, Lewyn released some expert wind magic, striking down one of the Weissen Ritter. His jaw was clenched and his brow was furrowed in concentration. If they could keep it up like this, he thought to himself, they may just make it out alive. The group began shuffling toward another mage, this one of the Rotten Ritter.

"Enough of this," rasped a voice, and Lewyn glanced quickly at the figure. It was a man of average height in a dark cloak. "I've worked too long to be foiled by a descendant of Ced, of all people.

With a harsh, abyssal word, dark flying skulls trailing ethereal tails assaulted the irregulars. With cries of pain, many dropped to the ground. With a shout, Erinys jumped towards the man, brandishing her lance. Her thrust stopped some centimeters short of the man, glancing off some invisible shield. The blowback snapped the lance out of her hands, and in a moment, he had seized her by her neck. Her body went limp, and she fell to her knees. Lewyn's eyes widened in fear, but he needed to concentrate on deflecting the incoming meteors.

"Your consort, I presume?" Murmured the cloaked figure. "Come quietly or her life is forfeit."

"Lewyn, no!" Erinys managed to gasp out. "Silesse . . . our future . . . !"

Lewyn slowly lowered the tome to the earth, and meteors began to fall around him. "Let her go!" he shouted. "I've done what you asked, if you don't want to face the wrath of Forseti, let her go!"

The dark bishop chuckled but released her neck. Erinys's body crumpled to the ground. "She lives," he clucked. "But you must not."

A wave of darkness sprang towards Lewyn, and he fumbled to grab the holy tome. With a word, he sent his own wind force above the darkness, crashing into the dark high priest and throwing him to the ground. In that moment, the darkness hit Lewyn.

In moments, Manfroy was climbing to his feet. It had been years since he had suffered bodily injury. It would be important not to underestimate the power of the Crusaders going forward. He brushed himself off and admired his handiwork.

Prince Lewyn was locked in an eternal silent scream, the darkness of Hel encircling his body. If that didn't manage to kill him, the Rotten Ritter would finish the job, Manfroy said to himself. He turned to go when a light shook the heavens.

Manfroy wheeled around to see figure of light descending from the sky toward the young man. "Impossible!" the dark bishop cried, but still it descended. The glowing figure seemed amorphous – sometimes man, sometimes dragon. The being of light descended to the Silessian prince, and the darkness holding him faded away. For a moment, the figure stood above the kneeling Lewyn. Then the figure extended a hand. Lewyn took it.

In rage, Manfroy cast Jormugand spells at the two, but he knew it was useless. _The Dark One take me . . . _he thought to himself. He had not envisioned a dragon intervention. The figure and the prince turned their heads toward him as the dark spell glanced harmlessly off some divine barrier. Forseti's tome lay on the ground, but the figure and Lewyn raised their right hands. As a wall of magic burst towards him, Manfroy fled the battlefield.

The figure and Lewyn stood, side by side. Their eyes locked on the fallen Erinys. Together they strode over to her. Lewyn picked her up, throwing her over his shoulders, and without a word, the three suddenly flew into the clouds, heading northward, leaving behind the holy tome.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.

Sigurd lay supine, his eyes cast upwards toward heaven, pleading for the intervention of some deity. He had been saved from the jaws of death many times. Perhaps he had cheated death once too many?

His beloved Tyrfing had protected him from incineration, but his eyebrows and part of his hair had been burned away, and his knightly armor was black with soot and patches were burned from it. He gasped for air, and the ringing in his ears did little to drown out the sounds of men dying around him.

Rough hands grasped his shoulders and pulled him up. Two mages propped him up as Arvis stepped forward. The fire mage pried Sigurd's jaw open.

"Arvis why . . .," Sigurd managed weakly, then cried out in pain. Arvis clamped Sigurd's tongue with is thumb and forefinger, burning away all power of speech. Sigurd yelped and howled weakly, then hung his head as Arvis finished removing the front of his tongue.

If Sigurd had looked up, he would have seen the pity in Arvis's face. "No more intrigue. No court politics, machinations, or betrayals. Finally, for the first time in centuries, peace will come to Jugdral. Sigurd." He paused to see if the paladin would respond, but he only hung his head weakly. "In only three years, a dozen noblemen and women lost their lives _at the hands of their own family_. Thousands of peasants have lost lives and property because of the squabbling of a few traitors. No more. How many lives has your little army uprooted? How many kingdoms did you overthrow? How much blood was spilt?" Still Sigurd hung weakly. "I will not let that blood be spilt in vain. Peace will come to Jugdral. I will be Emperor Arvis, with Empress Deirdre at my side."

At the mention of his wife, Sigurd began to shudder. The mages lowered him to his knees and he began to sob. Deep, guttural cries cast across the tormented battlefield. Much of the army had been blown apart, and slowly the meteors began to cease. The mages descended from their perches along the bluffs and began to subdue the few survivors. Sigurd wept for them. He wept for his child and the women and children he had left in Isaach, all fatherless and widows. He wept for the friends he had made along the journey. He hadn't liberated anyone. He hadn't established justice. He had paved the way for this tyrant. Sigurd wept bittlerly.

A post was laid to his back, and ropes were tied across his body. The post had a cross-beam, and the mages propped his arms over it, then tied his wrists together in front of his abdomen. He was propped up on the post, supported by his shoulders and tied at his waist. He was hoisted into the air as his body sagged. He was put on a cart of some kind, and the cart rolled into the city.

It was a parade. Arvis stood at the head of the army, followed by ten or so Weissen Ritter. A cart drawn by a mule carried Sigurd's body. He was propped atop his post, and the crowd jeered at him. "The traitor gets his due!" cried one, and "May the Dark One take you, filth!" cried another.

More mages followed, prodding along some and nearly carrying others. Noish and Alec leaned on each other. Noish had lost an arm, but the Rotten Ritter had tied it off. Arden hobbled with a makeshift crutch, nearly carried by two mages because his right foot was gone. Midir's corpse lay on the battlefield. Lex defiantly struggled against his bonds, thrashing against his captors, and they beat him for it, the crowd roaring in approval. Azel huddled with his wife Tailtiu. They had both escaped intact, but Azel was missing a large chunk of his left hand. Ayra's body was never found. Her husband Chulainn had passed out from blood loss and was carried in on a stretcher. Jamke had also managed to escape unscathed. He had seen his wife suffering at the hand of a dark spell, when suddenly she was whisked away by a being of light. He prayed to all the gods that she yet lived and prayed for the gods to care for his twins in Isaach. Bishop Claud and his wife Sylvia brought up the rear Claud had a shocked look painted on his normally sweet face. Sylvia looked even worse, white as a sheet and all the blood drained from her face. She held tightly to Claud.

The parade carried these few stragglers to the hall of judgement, where Arvis took the stand. A few dignitaries and noblemen were already seated, while a few more filed into the room. Lex saw a familiar face, dark and grave. Lex leaped forward but his captors held him back.

"Danan! You scum! You've got what you wanted, the power you craved!" The mages held him firm as spittle flew from his bruised face. "I applaud you, lord of Dozel! I know you and Dad were in on it. How do you sleep at night, villain? How many lives lost, just to suckle at the teat of political power? How much blood spilt? Answer me!"

Danan sat, stoic and dark. "The man is mad, and a traitor. Let him be judged and found guilty."

Sigurd had been the first to enter the hall of justice, and with its high ceiling his post easily fit in. He was place in the 'box of the accused,' and watched his comrades file in. He would have wept more, but his tears failed to come.

Bright flooded the hall through the massive stained-glass window. It portrayed the great goddess Naga. She extended two hands, one palm-up offering mercy and the other palm-down meting justice. Noblemen from across Jugdral had gathered to witness the end of the rebellion and the dawning of a new age.

Arvis stood in judgement beneath the great window, his emblem of Fjalar glinting in the morning light. "We gather to deliver justice today to the traitor Sigurd and his band of villains. First to the stand.

Sigurd watched as one by one, his friends were put to a kangaroo court. After a few moments of testimony, Arvis would cry that the accused was lying, and demanded the truth. If the witness insisted on innocence, they were sentenced to execution. First Noish was carried off the stand to the prisoner's exit, then Alec soon followed.

"And you, knight?" Arvis asked the next witness.

Arden paused. "I am Arden of Chalphy, one of the Grunen Ritter. Sigurd is one of the finest men to walk this earth-"

"Lies will not go unpunished in the court of law!" snapped Arvis.

"And treachery will not go unpunished by the great god Naga!" cried Arden.

"Take him away, guards!" demanded Arvis, and the big man hobbled to the prisoner's exit.

Lex was next. "State your name."

Lex was battered and bruised. His struggles against his captors had earned him a black eye and a swollen lip. "I am Lex of Dozel. I am a bastard. My father was second-cousin to Lombard, and wanted to throw me to the wilderness. Lombard took me in and raised me as his own son. He is a father to me and Danan a brother. I am husband to Fand and father of her children."

"Who is Fand and where is she?"

"She was the handmaiden of Ayra, swordswoman of Isaach. As to her whereabouts, I swore never to tell a soul."

Arvis's eyes narrowed. "Very well. What say you in defense of your treachery?"

"I am guilty to the last, and may I stand before Naga and give an account of my deeds. I feel she would reward me more handsomely than she would you, Emperor Arvis," he spat.

"Blasphemy!" cried Danan, rising from his seat. "Let the man be slain for blasphemy, treachery, and patricide!"

"Take him away," ordered Arvis, and Lex spat on the ground.

Azel approached the stand. "Hello, brother."

"State your name for the court." Arvis's words were strict, but in his eyes Azel saw pleading. He could tell – Arvis didn't want to sentence him to death. _Just lie_, he imagined his brother saying. _If you just go along with my way, I can save you._

Azel hated it. He hated it with every fiber of his being. But he looked back to the box of the accused. There was his wife, his beloved friend and confidant Tailtiu. He had her to think about. He could have a future with her.

"I am Azel of Velthomer, son of Victor."

"You stand accused of aiding and abetting the conspiracy against Prince Kurth and the rebellion against the crown of Grannvale. What say you?"

Azel gritted his teeth. He looked to Sigurd, to his comrades, and to his wife. "I had no knowledge of any conspiracy against Prince Kurth." Not a lie. "I joined the army to help save an old friend, Edain of Jungby." Again not a lie.

Arvis hesitated. "Why did you continue to accompany them in defiance of House Friege, House Jungby, and House Dozel?"

Azel's face didn't betray his internal anguish. "My beloved, my wife Tailtiu, was among the rebels. They . . . threatened to kill her if I didn't go along with the attack."

Tailtiu gasped, but she didn't say anything. A murmur went through the crowd. Bloom of Friege was among them, with his wife Hilda. He glanced at Tailtiu, pursed his lips, but stayed silent.

Arvis proceeded quickly. "If other testimony confirms that this is the truth, you may go free. For now, proceed to the prisoner's exit and wait for further instruction. Do you have anything else to say?"

Azel bowed his head. "May justice be served."

Tailtiu was then called to the stand. She looked at her comrades, then shuffled up.

"Your name?"

Tailtiu looked around. Her eyes met Bloom's, but his face remained stoic. "I'm Tailtiu of Friege. I'm the daughter of Reptor and wife of Azel."

"You stand accused of aiding and abetting a conspiracy against Prince Kurth. What say you?"

"I had no idea of any conspiracy against Prince Kurth's life."

Arvis prompted her. "Then why did you join these rebels?"

Tailtiu looked at Claud. "Claud and I were at Bragi Tower, and we were chased by the pirates of Orgahill. The rebels offered us safety."

Arvis needed more. "Then why did you continue with them when they marched against Lombard and your own father, Reptor? Is it as Azel said, that your life was threatened?"

Tailtiu paused and looked down. She twiddled her thumbs. "It is true that they held my life in their hands. At any time, they could have killed me. It is possible that they threatened to take my life to Azel and I was unaware of it."

"Then why did you stay with them?"

Tailtiu seemed to think. "I was travelling with them. I had nothing to do with the death of Lombard. I couldn't cross the Yied Desert alone. I hoped to reach my father Reptor and . . ."

She paused. "And what?" Arvis urged. "And he would keep you safe from the rebels?"

She looked up at Arvis. She saw it in his eyes, pleading. _Just say 'yes'. You and Azel can get out of here._

She looked at Bloom. His stoic expression had fallen into a small scowl. Hilda whispered something in his ear.

"Yes."

"Very good," said Arvis. You had nothing to do with taking the life of him, nor Lombard nor Kurth, correct?"

"Yes."

"Very well, carry on to the prisoner's exit. You will soon be freed if all other testimony corroborates this.

Jamke was next to testify. "I am Jamke, the prince of Verdane. I am the son of Batu, the husband of Brigid, and father of her children."

An attendant mage whispered something in Arvis's ear. Arvis turned to Jamke. "Where is Brigid now? Her body was not recovered from the battlefield."

"I know not," Jamke replied, stone-faced.

Arvis tapped his finger on the bench, thinking. "Prince of Verdane, whether or not you aided in the assault against Reptor and Lombard, your people are guilty of crimes against Grannvale and Jungby. I sentence you to death. If there is anything left to be said, say it."

Jamke was surprised. He had imagined he'd get a chance to speak in his defense. He gave a stunned look to the crowd. The noblemen all sneered at this barbarian prince of a wild land. He opened his mouth.

"The blood of we innocents will pay for the crimes of you guilty. One day, not many days hence, the lords of the continent will travel to Verdane to pay homage to its king, a bearer of the Holy Blood and Holy Bow of Ulir!"

"Enough!" Arvis snapped, and Jamke was taken away.

Chulainn was unable to testify. A meteor had obliterated a portion of his hip, and he was taken for medical treatment. He would later be executed with Noish, Alec, Arden, Lex, and Jamke.

"Next witness!" barked Arvis.

Claud was attempting to leave the box, but Sylvia was clinging tightly to his arm.

"If I may, your honor," offered Claud. "My wife is quite distraught. May she take the stand with me?"

Arvis allowed it, and the two took the stand. "State your name."

"I am Father Claud of Edda, bishop of the Bragi Church, and husband of Sylvia of Edda."

A murmur went through the crowd. The holiest man in Jugdral was part of the rebellion? He was married to some commoner that no one had heard of?

"You stand accused of conspiring against the life of Prince Kurth and rebellion against the Houses of Belhalla, Friege, and Dozel. How plead you?

"Your Majesty, I didn't even travel with the rebels until after the death of Prince Kurth, so I certainly have nothing to do with his tragic murder. As for a campaign against Lombard and Reptor, I have never in my life inflicted harm to another human being, and neither has my wife. We traveled with the army always to do good. I have healed many Jugdrali harmed by this war."

"If you were against violence, why then did you travel with the rebels?"

Claud sighed. "For one, Reptor and Lombard sought my life, simply because I travelled with Sigurd. For another, travelling with the army was an opportunity to do a lot of good for a lot of people. As I mentioned, many have been in need of my healing and comfort."

"Including the rebels?"

Claud gave a small smile. "It is the teachings of Bragi and doctrine of the Church that every life is precious, even that of the enemy. Many times I was able to relieve the pain of these wounded, yes, that is true."

Arvis sat thinking. "Claud, I cannot find you guilty of murder or violence of any kind. However, you can be found guilty of treason and aiding these traitors. Do you owe any allegiance or loyalty at all to these villains?"

Claud gave a pause. "No. My allegiance is to my religion, my god, the great god Naga, to my ancestor Bragi, to my wife, and to the people of Jugdral."  
"If you will swear allegiance to me and to the throne of Belhalla, you may return to Edda in peace with your wife."

To the court, it seemed that Claud sat in silence, but his voice rang out in Arvis's mind. _I cannot swear allegiance to you, nor to the throne of Grannvale. Not many days hence, the throne will be defiled. I see your dilemma. You want me to walk free, but you don't want me to cause you any more trouble, raise up a rebellion. I understand. Let this be your answer then._

"I cannot, Your Highness. The Bishop's allegiance must be to things more transcendent than thrones or people. But Bragi has given me this instruction: let my lips be sealed. A vow of silence. From this day forth, I have sworn my allegiances, and can swear no more. Amen."

Before anyone could speak, Claud raised his staff. A light shone, and then dimmed. Claud and Sylvia were silent. Sylvia searched Claud's face. "Claud?" she asked in a low whisper. "You can't speak?"

"You can't speak?" asked a shocked Arvis. A cry went up from the courtroom. He can't speak! Saint Bragi himself prevented him from swearing to the throne!

"Order! ORDER!" Arvis shouted down the excited nobles. "Clearly Bragi is still with you, Father Claud. Return to Edda, and none will ever speak of this rebellion again. Take your wife and go.

Sigurd had heard all the proceedings. Azel and Tailtiu and Claud and Sylvia had escaped with their lives. Edain, Oifey, and Fand had taken the children: Shanan, prince of Isaach; Edain's and Midir's children, Lester and Lana; Brigid's twins, Febail and Patty; Lex's and Fand's children, Creidne and Dalvin; Lewyn's and Erinys's son Ced; as well as his own son, Seliph. Ayra was nowhere to be found, but she and Chulainn had been trying for children. A pregnant Lachesis was en route to Leonster, and Finn could take care of her. It wasn't over. Hope and light still live on, even in the deepest darkness.

Sigurd heard Arvis speaking. "Sigurd of Chalphy, the traitor, son of Byron of Chalphy, the traitor. Simple execution is too good for you. The flame of Fjalar will cleanse your sin from this land.

Sigurd felt the post lifted up and hauled into the execution square. The book of Fjalar was in Arvis's hands, and the spidery language tickled Sigurd's ear. _While our children yet live, there is still hope!_

As the Valflamme consumed his body, Sigurd was at peace. His last thoughts were for Seliph and for Deirdre.

***  
Seasons come and go. Time moves inexorable forward. Arvis cemented his rule over the whole continent of Jugdral. Over Agustria he placed the daughter of King Chagall, a puppet queen to rule the region. In Silesse, he chose young Musar, the son of Daccar, to become his duke. The tome of Forseti was recovered from the battlefield and entrusted to Musar, who held the minor Holy Blood of Forseti. Erinys had a second child, a girl named Fee, and Erinys ruled in Thove as a small resistance to the empire. After Fee's birth, though, Lewyn disappeared. He had never been the same since the massacre at Belhalla, and now took his leave to travel the world.

In Isaach, Arvis installed Danan, inheritor of House Dozel. As his sons grew, he entrusted each of them territories within Isaach: First Brian, then Iuchar, and last Iucharba, before Brian returned to Dozel to rule the Duchy.

Under Arvis, Bloom took control of the Manster District, and the mages of Friege soon controlled all of the northern territory. Lachesis made it to Manster, gave birth to her first son Diarmuid, and then promptly married Finn. The two had a daughter, Nanna. With southern Thracia, Arvis entered an alliance with king Travant.

Edda remained under Claud and the Church of Bragi, but Claud was powerless to stop the rise of the cult of Loptyr on the continent. He prayed incessantly for the hearts of the people to turn to the light, to Naga and to Bragi, but the dark religion seemed inexorable. His first daughter was Lene, and his second child was Coirrpre, who bore the mark of Bragi. Shortly after Coirpre's birth, the first child hunt began. The stress and grief of years became too great, and Claud became gravely distressed. He knew Manfroy and the Loptyrian cult sought his life and the life of his children, so one night he urged Sylvia to take them away. She entrusted the children to an orphanage in Darna. After that day, Sylvia was never heard from again. Young Coirpre was soon adopted by a general of Thracia, Hannibal.

At Jungby, Scipio was the chosen successor and Duke of Arvis. He was entrusted with the Yewfelle, which had been claimed in battle by Manfroy. Scipio was raised to see his aunts as traitors and his father as unjustly slain by the treacherous rebels, and he developed a strong loathing for anyone who stood against the new Grannvale empire. Verdane was left barbarous and wild for the following years, and Scipio led many campaigns just to kill and subdue the wild country.

Azel never felt that he could live with himself. He had lied and forsaken Sigurd just to save his life and his wife's. He and Tailtiu had two children together, but shortly afterward, he could bear it no longer, and began to raise his own small rebellion against emperor Arvis. Betrayal within and military might without crushed his rebellion, and Azel was killed. Tailtiu, after years of abuse at the hands of Hilda, Tailtiu took Arthur to Silesse, leaving him with a family of wind mages to care for him. Unwilling to go back and face Hilda, Tailtiu died of starvation in Silesse, and her body was sent home to Fiege.

Dew had escaped with his life. He traveled to Leonster to deliver Beowulf's sword to his son, Diarmuid. He then travelled to Tirnanog in Isaach, bearing the holy Bragi sword.

In Isaach, Edain, Oifey, and Fand hid the children in Tirnanog. Nearly a year after the Battle of Belhalla, twins were left at the Tirnanog abbey, with a little card with their names: Larcei and Ulster. Ayra was never heard from again. In this abbey, these children grew up. When Dew came, he worried that having so many of the children together would put their future revolution at risk. He volunteered to take Brigid's children away to a safe orphanage in Melgen. He taught Patty the art of thievery. Dew later retired to his homeland in Agustria, and he would never get recognition for his small yet significant role in healing the world.

Meanwhile, back in Tirnanog, the years passed. The children trained in the sword, in the bow, and in the axe. The time was ripe. Liberation was beginning thanks to the inheritors of light.


	2. Chapter 2

Azel sat in the dimly-lit cell, crying silently. Tears dripped down his young face. They faded into his fiery-red gilded attire which marked him a son of Velthomer. He choked back sobs and buried his face in his right hand. Never had he known such shame or anguish.

What do you have when you've lost everything?

The jail's corridor was eerily empty and quiet ever since the guard had left him there. Through his misery, thoughts flitted across Azel's mind. Who else had lied and lived? Surely not the noble Claud, best among men. He couldn't tell a lie. Azel's grief deepened. So many friends had been lost. Men among men. Great heroes like Sigurd and Claud and his dear friend Lex. Never again would he hear his friends' laughter. Never again could he comfort them in their sadness. They had gone away, and worse, what had they died for? Their innocent blood had been spilt, a blood sacrifice by none other than his own brother, Arvis.

Azel wasn't sure how much time had passed. Two hours? Maybe four? Slowly anguish and shame gave way to grief and hatred. He pounded his fist on the simple wooden bench and uttered an oath.

As if on cue, a shuffle of feet was heard coming down the hallway. The murmur of a few retainers was rebuffed by a sharp, "Alone, I say!" Undoubtedly, it was –

A rap came at the door. "Azel, I'm coming in."

A key turned, and ancient hinges screeched as the heavy oaken door swung inward.

It was Arvis.

His eyes quickly scanned the small cell. It couldn't have been more than a 10 foot by 10 foot box with an 8 foot high ceiling. A small grate at the top of the back wall allowed a bit of sunlight and the sounds of the city in. A simple wooden bench against the left wall and a chamber pot against the right were the only accoutrements. Besides that, and some straw on the ground, the only object in the room was Azel, whose teary grief-stricken face stared stonily at the right wall, no glance acknowledging Arvis's entrance.

Arvis had paused briefly at the threshold. "Step back, you lot." He motioned for his retainers to depart down the hall. A muted protest was quickly dismissed with a simple, "Enough!" and the men shuffled away, tittering like overgrown chickens.

Arvis entered and swung the door shut which again screeched in protest. "Brother," he said. Azel wasn't sure if it was a greeting or an invitation to speak, but said nothing, trying to remain stoic in the face of the villain.

Arvis cleared his throat. "I'm glad you're alive."

A heavy silence followed. A cart rapped against the cobblestones outside.

"I want to explain myself. My actions may not be easy to understand-"

Azel sprang to his feet and grabbed at his brother's lapels, but he was too diminutive to manhandle the taller man. Arvis met his grasp by gripping the wrists of the offending hands.

"Oh, I understand!" Azel spat the words out of his mouth. "A necessary sacrifice! A few stepping stones on the path to your supremacy on the continent. You worm! You have the gall to-"

A raised hand, a crack against his jaw, his head spun, and Azel was on the ground. "A worm! You dare insult me?" Arvis raged. "What I did was not for my own reputation or glory. Have you such a low opinion of your own brother?"

Azel struggled to rise. "Then there it is. I don't understand. But I can't fathom, I couldn't dream up an excuse, a reason to take the lives of these innocents, these heroes-"

"I'll tell you!" the duke snapped. "Now sit and calm yourself."

Azel rose to his dingy bench. He placed his hands on his knees and hung his head. He gathered his thoughts, steadied his breathing, and looked up. "Tell me."

Arvis was stern. The royal vestments of House Velthomer seemed muted and dark in this dingy cell, and his Fire Emblem caught no light from the tiny vent.

"I hope you enjoyed your little frolic across the continent. Tell me, Azel. How many villages did you see burned on your world tour? How many soldiers and mercenaries died fighting your little army? How many noble houses were uprooted by your irresponsibility?"

Azel's face was dark, and his response was slow and ponderous. "You mean to tell me that you honestly think Sigurd and the rest are criminals who ruined people's lives."

"You misunderstand me." Arvis tutted. "It was not their fault. It was the fault of generations of court politics and intrigue. Every generation, a new set of grasping politicians, barbarous ruffians, incensed rebels or the like rise up to ruin the peace, lives, and livelihoods of untold thousands. Why, not 25 years ago you had the crisis of succession in the Manster District and the encroachment of Travant's father on Manster and Miletos. How many cities and lives could have been saved if the succession of Manster was overseen and the boarder well-guarded? And this happens every generation. Intrigue, politics, royalty . . . " Arvis threw his hand up in the air. "Worthless! I have ended this trite squabbling, and I'm ushering in a new age."

Azel was stoic. He bobbed his head briefly. "A new age, huh? It's an age just like the last one! Nothing has changed. Danan replaces Lombard. Bloom replaces Reptor. There is no new order. Azmur is king, and his nephew Leon will succeed him because Kurth died without progeny-"

Azel trailed off because Arvis was shaking his head. "You're wrong Azel. We have found Kurth's daughter: my wife."

Bewilderment crossed Azel's face. "A daughter? Who?"

Arvis smiled. "It's almost as if she fell from the sky. She appeared in Belhalla months ago with no memory of where she had come from, only her name. I'll have to introduce you to her at some point."

"Awfully convenient, eh?" Azel rejoined. "You just happened to find the heir of Kurth and you just happened to marry her."

"There can be no doubt that she's the heir of Heim. She bears his mark on her forehead."

"Then you . . . the great Arvis, you become her husband and the kind of Grannvale."

"More than Grannvale, dear brother." Arvis drew himself up regally. "Already Bloom, Danan, and Claud align behind me-"

_Claud? _Confusion cracked Azelle's stony face.

"The daughter of Chagall, Regan, stands ready to take the throne of Augustria and swear allegiance to me, as is young Musar, son of Silesse's Daccar. Jungby has nobody to take the throne but the boy Scipio, and he can be brought up hear in Belhalla. Manster is in disarray, I'll bring my armies to establish order there and peace with Travant, and Isaach is already on the verge of surrender to Grannvale. No more court politics. No more machinations. I'll establish peace and unity on Jugdral. Yes, it came at a great cost: the lives of great men and women. But the result will be a glorious reign of peace and unity."

The younger brother had questions about Claud, but those could wait. He looked into Arvis's eyes. Something wasn't right. Something marred his triumphant demeanor. "Arvis . . . there's something else, isn't there. There's something you're not telling me."

Arvis gave a scoff, but it sounded almost forced. "Whatever could you mean?"

A deep stare from Azel. "Someone put you up to this, Arvis."

"Silence!" Arvis sliced at the air with his arm. "Such impudence! Enough with the questions! I came so that you would understand. You understand now, don't you? Either you can accept my reign, and I let you live a peaceful life with your darling wife, or you can denounce me and be put to death. The choice is yours, Azel. Kneel before me and pledge your fealty to Emperor Arvis." His face suddenly softened. "And please do it, Azel. I really do care for you. Live. Be happy. None of this was your fault. Just say the words, and I can set you free." He gestured to the ground, urging Azel to kneel.

Thoughts swirled in Azel's head. He saw himself as a young boy, and the adolescent Arvis standing up for him. He saw himself and Lex at the Academy at Belhalla, meeting Sigurd for the first time. He saw himself riding to the rescue on Lex's horse, off to save lady Edain. He saw the nights on the battlefield, the fire rising as Lewyn played an evening tune. He saw his dear Tailtiu, her smiling face and her singing laughter. And then he was back in the present, seeing his brother in his attire, his dim emblem and the dingy cell.

"Well?" asked Arvis.

A shout was heard down the hall. "Azel?" He couldn't mistake it. Tailtiu was just down the hall.

Arvis gave an annoyed look. "It would seem our conversation took just a little longer than expected. It's the moment of truth, brother. You have but a few seconds to make your choice."

Azel glanced left out the small grate, then right towards the oaken door. He looked up at his brother's sober face. He rose to his feet. Then he dropped to one knee.

"I swear fealty to you, Emperor Arvis. On my life, I pledge my loyalty."

Arvis gave a satisfied grin. "That will do." He opened the raucous door once more and motioned down the hall. Two guards bearing a slight young woman with shocking silvery hair pushed into the door, with some silent advisors following behind.

"Azel!" cried Tailtiu. "Azel, are you all right?" Azel rose as the guards released Tailtiu, and she rushed to his arms. "I was so worried, dear! They didn't hurt you?" She cupped his face in her hands.

"No, they-" Azel began, but was quickly cut off.

"Of course we didn't," Arvis proclaimed. "I was so happy to hear that Azel does not number among the traitors, that he was forced into service at the hands of the traitorous band. Azel has proven true, and he has pledged his life to me. Is that not so, Azel?"

Azel swallowed. "Yeah, I'm fine Tailtiu. It's true, I pledged my loyalty to Arvis."

"Very good," Arvis moved along quickly. "Do likewise, daughter of Freege, and the two of you will be set free-"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. I pledge my 'fealty' to you for life or whatever, yadda yadda." Tailtiu quickly shrugged off the most powerful man in Jugdral and sank further into her husband's embrace. "We'll get out of here, move away. Let's go to some remote corner, and just the two of us, we can forget this whole thing-"

Arvis cleared his throat pointedly. "Ahem. I'll need a more formal pledge of allegiance from you, Lady Tailtiu. Further, I've already arranged for you two to live in Freege. Bloom will be supervising some campaigns in Manster, and while he's away, you two can help maintain order in the city. Now, the pledge, my Lady?"

Azel whispered in her ear. "Let's live, Tailtiu. We'll do what he says."

Tailtiu gave an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgement, turned, knelt, and hurriedly pledged, "I pledge fealty to Emperor Arvis on my life."

"Excellent." Arvis seemed satisfied. "Lord Bloom and his wife Hilda will be along to collect you two shortly. I trust you two will have a long and happy life together." He turned to go.

"Who else lived?" Azel rushed to his brother. "Who else survived?"

Arvis didn't even turn back. "I'm sure Bloom can answer all your questions. If you have any further need to talk, you can write me, brother."

With that, he crossed the threshold and passed into the hall, and the advisors and guards followed suit, shutting the door behind them, but leaving it unlocked.

-II-

Bloom was a regal and a demure man. He had always been his father's pride and joy. Now in his late 20s, Bloom was fully ready to be the heir to Freege. But if the rumors were true, he wouldn't be spending as much time in his beloved homeland. He may just be spending the next 5 years fighting dragons and chasing some toddler across the countryside of a faraway land.

His forehead creased, and his wife whispered to him, "You're doing that thing again."

Quickly his brow un-furrowed, as the two continued down the torch-lit hallway. "Surely this is the path, correct?"

Hilda smirked. "Do you know of any other dungeon beneath the courtroom?"

Maybe Bloom had been too hasty in marrying her. He had always imagined marrying a tender woman, like his mother. Hilda was anything but tender. She hadn't even brought Ishtar. It's irresponsible for a woman to leave her barely-weaned child at home while she take a two-week journey.

"Once again your brow creases. I keep telling you it's unsightly. You'll age yourself ten years in half that if you keep that up."

Rapidly he relaxed his face. Happy wife, happy life as the peasants say.

Bloom didn't care for peasants or war. His father had been a deft politician, perhaps the deftest in the last 100 years. He had raised Freege from tottering subservience to Belhalla – the Royal family's footstool, Freege had been called, Belhalla's guard dog as well – to perhaps the mightiest of the dukedoms, second only to Belhalla itself. Sure, perhaps the armies of Dozel or Chalphy had more manpower and military might, but Reptor had clawed his way to political power through court politics, intrigue, and alliances. Bloom loved it. Reptor had raised him to it. He was used to lavish parties and secret correspondences. The idea of a military campaign in Manster was so depressing. He hated donning his armor and wielding the Mjolnir. Leave the battling to simple-minded Danan or Andre- Well, on second thought, now Andre was dead. Who would do battle? Bloom supposed it couldn't be helped. Maybe he could find a good general to lead the campaign. What was Ethnia's husband's name again?

"Perhaps you'll have to stop thinking altogether, my dear," Hilda sneered. "Better a dumb man with a smooth face than an ugly genius."

"My father was an ugly genius," Bloom mused.

"Maybe that's why- never mind." Hilda mused back.

Bloom pursed his lips. '_That's why he died'? No, maybe she was just going to say 'that's why you act this way.'_ He had always been a patient man, but his wife tried his patience.

"We're almost there," Hilda muttered.

"I didn't see your sister today. She's usually at Arvis's beck and call."

"Oh, Aida? Why mention her, Bloom? After all, you married me not her, didn't you?"

Bloom knew Hilda was just trying to get his goat. "He must have had some task for her."

"Oh, you didn't hear? She was out at Velthomer. She defended the keep from the traitor's army."

Bloom was silent a moment, and all that could be heard was the clack of Hilda's shoes and the soft pads of his own. "She must have been with Father right before he died."

He knew that he was inviting Hilda's scorn once more, but thankfully they had arrived. "Honestly, Bloom, you sentimental fool. We're here."

They had reached the unlocked door that was missing its right torch. Hilda rapped her knuckles, giving a dull knock on the heavy oaken door. "Yoohoo! We're coming in, dears!"

The hinges squealed as she pushed the heavy door open, revealing the young couple, sitting together on the simple prison bench. Taitiu sat to Azel's right, and she had her left leg across his legs and her arms draped across his left shoulder. It seemed they had been crying, and they barely seemed to notice Hilda and Bloom's arrival.

"Oh, dear me," Hilda smirked. "I hope I'm not interrupting a tender moment. Normally I'd say, 'you lovebirds take all the time you need,' but I'm actually in a rush to get back to Freege and see my darling daughter, so chop chop, my in-laws."

Tailtiu was nodding and gathering herself as she rose, and Azel quickly followed. Bloom strode in, hands behind his back. "You two have had quite the adventure. Time to go home." He patted Tailtiu's head and kissed her forehead. "How have you been, sister?"

Tailtiu recoiled slightly at his touch. "Bloom, I'm not a child anymore. I'll be 20 this year."

"How right you are," he replied, taking her hand and kissing it. "Let us be off."

"Bloom, tell us who else lived!" Azel was eager.

Bloom tapped his lower lip with his forefinger. "Not much else happened after Tailtiu was taken away. The prince of that barbarous kingdom – what was it called again dear?"

"It was Jamdolf or something, who cares."

"No, I'm talking about the land – anyway, he was sentenced to death. Then Claud and his wife were granted clemency. The most miraculous thing happened-"

"We'll tell you on the way," snapped Hilda. "My daughter is waiting."

The hinges groaned for the last time as Bloom shut the door behind them. "Must have been fun, eh, cousin?" Hilda jabbed at Azel. "A two-year romp across Jugdral. Sounds like my kind of vacation."

"Don't call me that. We're like fourth or fifth cousins or something."

"Oh, don't be that way, Azel. We both bear the blood of Fjalar. Let's be friends, okay? You, too, Tailtiu." She grinned wickedly. "We're going to be spending quite a bit of time together."

_-_III-

The halls of Freege keep were quiet. The only noise that disturbed the empty was the pitter-patter of soft slippers on the stone floor. The halls were mostly dim, with only a handful of torches lighting the way along the spacious hallways. Tailtiu could easily get from place to place in the keep. She had been raised here, after all. She knew it like the back of her hand. Hers were the feet that padded across the stone floors of the castle, _pat-pat-pat_, until she arrived at the door. Hastily she pushed to open it, but found it was locked. Such an impasse couldn't sour her brilliant mood. She knocked softly. "_Azel!" _she whispered. _"It's me!_"

A locked was turned, and there was Azel. Tailtiu practically leaped through the door into a hug.

"Hey, watch the candle!" Azel gave a half-hearted protest, extending his left arm. "So cheery! What's the occasion, love?"

Tailtiu kissed him and gave a secret smile. "Go ahead, guess."

"Guess?" Azel drew her into the room, set the candle on a little end-table, then settled into a large chair. Tailtiu sat in his lap, practically bursting to tell him the news.

"Well?" She gleefully asked. "Guess for me."

"Hm." He put a hand to his chin. "I would say Arthur's walking again . . ." Tailtiu shook her head. "Yeah, he's been taking steps for weeks now. Also, it's a little late at night for that." He looked at her face again. She raised an eyebrow.

"No," he said, going a little white.

"Yes," she said, nodding.

"You're pregnant?"

She nodded again, tears welling up in her eyes. "Oh, Azel!"

"Oh, Tailtiu!" The two rose to their feet. Azel had a giant terrified smile on his face. Tailtiu made a noise that was half sob and half laugh. Azel laughed in return, and they held each other tightly. They separated, then hands together, they started to dance. They twirled around, spinning around and around in that dim, dark study, a candle as their only light, each other as their only companionship, and laughing and smiling together, a rare moment of bliss and excitement in the couple's life together.

After only a minute or two the pair were exhausted and sank into the chair once again, holding each other tightly. Minutes passed, and they listened to each other's breathing and heartbeat. But as the minutes dragged on, Tailtiu felt something was amiss. Azel's breathing had become more ragged. His heartbeat was . . . unsure? She looked to his face. He was crying silently.

"Azel! Azel, darling, what's the matter! You're a great father, a second child is going to be easy as pie! What do you think – a boy, a younger brother for Arthur? Or how about a sister, a little playmate for little Linda?" Azel was sobbing now, and he held Tailtiu tighter. "What's happened, Azel? What ever's the matter? I'm going to be fine, I lived through the first childbirth, how hard can a second be?"

He put his face in his left hand and shook his head, still grasping Tailtiu's waist with his right. She relaxed her body and leaned her head in beside his. Slowly his breathing grew more steady, and he began to calm down. "Tell me what's wrong? Aren't you happy?"

Azel's was struggling to breath deeply and settle down. "Of course I'm happy! I'm the luckiest man alive! I've got the most dear and-" a lump seemed to catch in his throat, and for a moment Tailtiu thought he might sob again, but the moment passed. "You're the best, Tailtiu. Arthur and you and our new child are the best thing in my life and the best I could ever ask for." He bit his quivering lip and put a hand to his forehead. "What makes me sad . . . is that . . . I might have to give it up."

Tailiu stayed still and tried to maintain calm. If she got anxious, Azel was liable to break down again. "Tell me about it, my heart. Why would you have to give us up?"

For a few moments, all that could be heard were Azel's ragged breaths. Then: "I got a letter from an old friend."

In the darkness, Taitiu mouthed, "_Claud?"_

"Yes, I think you know who I'm talking about. He has grave concerns. He . . . he found something." Azel whispered now. "Emperor Arvis carries the blood of Galle. The servants of the dark God are behind him. They blackmailed him into this whole 'empire' business. They're growing in power. We've got to overthrow the empire and stop them before it's too late." His last sentence was so quiet that even in the silence Tailtiu had to strain her ears to hear them. "We have friends in high places. Oifey is coming of age soon, he's 17 or so. I'm in contact him and Edain. If they return, they're the rightful heirs of Jungby and Chalphy. We can start there. Erinys is holed up in Thove with her resistance fighters. Shannan may be young, but he'd be a symbol for the people of Isaach. We can do this. Finn and Lachesis are still alive."

"Shhhhh," cooed Tailtiu. "Azel. Calm down a minute. Azel. What are you suggesting? You're going to pack up and face down the might of the Empire? Azel. In not three years they've subjugated the Manster District and Isaach and made an alliance with King Travant. The continent is at peace. Azel. Arvis is the most popular and beloved man in Jugdral. He has four full-blooded descendants of the Crusaders at his beck and call. Azel. Shhhh. We can't do anything rash."

Azel's sobbing had stopped, and now he seemed stormy. "I've got to do something, Tailtiu. There's more. Claud has taken on a pupil, but his identity is a false one. He is, in truth, the son of Arvis and Aida. Aida died to protect this son from the clutches of the dark Archbishop, the true mastermind, one Manfroy. If we can expose Manfroy and reveal that he holds my brother through blackmail, the façade will crack and the revolution will unfold."

Tailtiu lay still, and the two were silent for minutes. "You're afraid, aren't you?"

Azel tensed.

"Arthur bears the marks. He has minor blood of both Fjalar and Thrud. So may our next child."

Still Azel was quiet.

"You're going away and what will become of us?"

"I can arrange something. Why not get up to Thove? Lewyn and Erinys have children of their own, you know. Let them be raised together."

Now it was Tailtiu who tensed. She wanted to yell. To scream. But that wouldn't persuade Azel. She released her breath.

"Not yet."

Another dark pause.

"Not yet?"

"Not yet. At least wait until Oifey is of age. Or why not wait until Shannan is of age? Please, Azel. Not yet."

A heavy silence followed. Seconds passed, and then a minute. "All right, Tailtiu. Not yet. No revolution yet. But I must go to see Claud. But I promise I'll be back."

Tears welled in Tailtiu's eyes. "Promise?"

"Promise."


	3. Chapter 3

Evan swept absentmindedly at his stoop. The sun was going down, and it seemed like it was just another day with no visitors to his inn. He sighed an shook his head. Business had never been excellent in rural Ganeishire, but now what with the Dozelian occupation his steady stream had slowed to a trickle.

Oh, well. What can you do? Evan had been born a peasant in rural Isaach. Like everyone else in the country, he had been trained in the sword, but he had no fondness for violence or war. He had worked for years to save enough to buy the old Od's Blood Inn in Ganeishire. He had met a girl, and had settled down.

A few months of bad luck wouldn't ruin him. But slow months were turning into slow years . . . how long had it been since Arvis's ascension? Five years? Maybe six? Maybe it was longer. Hard to say.

A stiff breeze swept the dirt road, blowing debris and rattling Evan's bones. He shivered and hunched his neck, musing that he may finally understand what his father used to mean when he 'felt it in his bones.' There was a storm coming. It was late in the year, it might even be the first snow this season.

"Chilly ain't it?"

Evan started. There was a young man, couldn't be more than his early 20s, leaning against the front of his inn. He hadn't heard the stranger approach. He must have snuck through an alleyway or something. With him was a small child, bundled tightly in a cloak of his own.

"My word," Evan exclaimed. "You startled me, boys." He looked them up and down. The older flipped a coin absentmindedly and caught it again. A royal mark. Those were rarer and more valuable in these parts. A hood partially obscured the young man's features, but he was obviously blonde, slight, and short. That accent-

"You ain't from around here, are you, son?" asked Evan. "And who's your little friend?"

The child may have been about 5 or so. His hair was a different shade of blonde from the young man. The man was a little young to have fathered such a child. A brother? Maybe a nephew or cousin? The child's cheeks were red from the cold, and his nose was running, but he offered no complaint.

The young man continued with his casual coin-flipping. "I'm Isaachian, through and through, old man, but let's just say my roots aren't as deep as the willow's."

Well, there was no denying that that was an Isaachian simile. Had he picked up his accent elsewhere, or was he just posing as an Isaachian? What a strange traveler and a strange encounter.

"Of course, my lad, of course, as Isaachian as Od himself, I'm sure." He smiled, trying to be friendly. "Have you a place to stay?"

The coin-tossing didn't stop. "Are you offering?"

The corner of Evan's mouth twitched. "I'm the innkeeper here. I've a room and beds for the two of you, if you have means to pay."

The youngster failed to catch the coin this time, and it landed on the ground. "Oh, clumsy me," and in one swift motion, the coin was off the ground, pressing into Evan's palm with two others. More than twice what Evan charged. "Let me get a hot meal brought up in half an hour or so, eh? And nobody needs to know that I'm here, right?"

Evan began to stammer a reply, and he got out some words of gratitude as the young man strode confidently in, the boy in tow. The pair swiftly ascended the stairs and disappeared into the hallway above.

_Strange times_, Evan thought to himself, and as he looked at the money again, he saw it wasn't three royal marks, but the single royal mark, plus two local gold coins of Isaach. This would still cover the price, but Evan's brow furrowed. Had the man hoped he wouldn't notice?

Evan heard a cry go up a block away, but it was hard to understand. He stood in the cold night air and listened again, and it came a little more perceptibly. It sounded like-

"_Thief!_"

Yes, it was definitely the cry of a distressed man, maybe a Dozelian guard at that? Evan heard the jangle of armor coming through his alleyway and knew a guard was coming through. "THIEF!" the voice shouted again.

Evan didn't like run-ins with the authorities. They were ever so disrespectful, and there were just as liable to seize your property as to recover it. 'Dozelian justice' was the joke that went around – often it was used at the wrong end of a gamble.

"You there!" Evan had tried to duck into his doorway, but the guard had spotted him. "How dare you avoid me! Have you seen any suspicious individuals out here as of late?"

Evan tried to muster a blank stare. "Business hasn't exactly been bustling, officer. I haven't seen hardly anyone tonight."

"That's a no, then?" The officer growled, his hands wringing the handle of his handaxe. Evan shook his head slowly.

"Blast!" the guardsman turned his back to the inn, and looked down the street one way, then to the other, then pulled at his own hair. "The Dark One take me, then! He's gone for good! I had 11 marks in that purse!" The guard uttered an oath, then kicked at a pebble. He again wheeled on Evan. "Keep your eyes peeled, eh? Return that pouch to me or to the steward, and I'll reward you handsomely. The name's Serlin. And don't you forget it!" He pointed to his face. "You'll know me by my moustache."

"Do you have a description of the criminal?" Evan managed.

"How am I to know?" the guard raged. "I was pick-pocketed. I've seen a handful of people in the street tonight. It could have been anyone. My purse was cut from right under my nose! Augh!" he stormed off back down the alleyway, cursing his luck and cursing Isaach.

Could it be that man? The guard knew nothing except that he was indeed pickpocketed. Evan knew it was wrong to assume such things about people. But, he had no reason to believe it could have been anyone else. He had the royal mark, just as the guard had claimed to have lost. He was the only suspicious figure he had seen all night. Evan decided he could find out more when he brought up the food.

A leg of boar was procured from the storeroom, quickly stewed with carrots, shallots, rosemary, and salt, among other ingredients. Evan cut some thick slices of black bread, spooned the stew into bowls, and carried the food up the narrow staircase. It was then he realized the he didn't know which of his three rooms the boys had chosen. He set the bowls on the ground and tried the first door. Empty. It was on the second that he heard some humming inside. Evan pressed the door open, and there was the young man, sat up in the bed with the boy in his arms. A grin spread across his face. "Ah, good to see you, inkeep! Brought the food?"

Evan retrieved the stew bowls and handed them off to the boys slowly. "Careful, it's hot."

"Just the way I like it! Appreciate it, sir!" The young man offered a toothy grin.

As he passed the bowls, Evan looked over the boy. The boy was oddly still and quiet. He wore a thick traveler's coat and cloak meant for long journeys, but surely the little tyke hadn't walked all day. How cruel would one have to be to make a child walk for a day! Perhaps the young man had stabled a horse somewhere . . .

"What's on your mind, innkeep?" The young man had a bit more seriousness to his voice.

"Erm, I didn't mean to stare. The boy . . . is he yours?"

The young man tossed his head back and barked out a laugh. "No sir, I haven't been lucky enough to find a special girl. We were just on a long hunting trip and we decided to take the long way home."

A lie perhaps? "Is that so . . ." Evans hoped he didn't come across as doubtful. He didn't want to offend the young man. "What do you say, boy? Looking forward to getting home?"

A moment passed, then, seemingly distractedly, the boy said, "Yes," and rather flatly at that.

"What's your name, son?"

It was the young man who replied. "It's Mananan, after the late king, may the Great God rest his soul."

"Hrm. Good to meet you, Mananan." The boy didn't reply. He was looking toward the window, but it was too dark out to see out of.

The young man had started flipping a coin again. "Thanks for the food, barkeep. I think we're all set here."

"Will you leave in the morning?"

"Yes, probably. We've some ground to cover tomorrow. Now, if you please." The young man made a slight gesture towards the door.

"Hold your horses, son. Just another question. A guard was asking about a thief." Flip. Flip. "Apparently he'd had his purse cut." Flip. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" Flip. Pause.

"Yeah, what did the guard look like?"

Evan's mouth twitched again. "His name was Serlin, I think. He had a moustache. He's Dozelian, of course."

"Yeah, that was me. I'm the thief."

Evan was shocked silent. Was he joking? He seemed serious. "Really?"

"Well, I figured if I lied, you'd suspect me anyway and turn me in to the guard. Being as I'm fessing up, I imagine you don't bear any loyalty to that guard, so I'm counting on you not turning me in." The young man leaned forward and gestured with the coin. "Dozel is the foreign kingdom infesting this land, like weasels burrowed in your herb garden. Yes, I stole from them. How do you feel about that?"

What a strange young man, Evan thought to himself. He gave the boy a quizzical stare for a few moments, until finally deciding on, "I've got no quarrel with you, lad. This'll be our secret, then."

"Yes, our secret," the young man leaned back onto the bed. The young boy sneezed.

"Well, sleep tight, then." Evan rose to his feet. "However, steal my property, and you'll have the Dozelian guard breathing down you neck, 's'that clear?"

The young man smiled and nodded, not bothering to open his eyes. As Evan closed the door behind him, he saw the boy clamber up onto the bed as well.

In the morning, Evan woke before dawn to prepare a hot breakfast for his guests. He soon noticed yesterday's black bread as well as half a hunk of cheese had disappeared. In their places, on the counter marks had been left as payment. Evan scrambled up the stair, but discovered that his guests had disappeared without a trace, a few coins left with him the only evidence of their passing.

-II-

Diarmuid was perhaps the best child Dew had ever known. He was what, 5 years old? Not to mention his absolutely boorish father (May Naga rest his soul) and his hotheaded mother. Dew supposed he took after his adopted father, Finn. Noble and loyal to a fault, composed and collected, Finn was a great example and caretaker for the young boy, but he had enough on his plate, what with the war in Manster. Tirnanog would be safer for the boy, plus he could be raised with the other children. He would return when the time was right.

For now, though, Diarmuid was the best-behaved boy you'd ever seen. He only spoke when spoken to, never wandered off, never complained or whined. Dew had enjoyed his company immensely on the weeks across the Yied Desert, camping during the day and travelling at night.

Now they found themselves crossing the northern extremities of the continent, the wooded land of Isaach. "Getting excited, Diarmuid? This'll be your new home!" The bushes rustled and twigs cracked around them.

The boy seemed unimpressed, but didn't say anything. "I'll admit, the winters here can be pretty vicious. But this wooded landscape has a wild natural beauty that nowhere else has. You'll have plenty of kids your age, and great mentors who can help you learn and grow."

"Like father?" the child asked.

Dew's smile wavered. "Yes, like your father. Beowolf was a good man, and you're going to make him proud." Dew reached behind his back and produced a large rolled-up pack, a handle protruding from one fold. "This was his sword. One day soon, it'll be yours, and you'll make him proud."

The child seemed to understand the gravity of the statement, and nodded gravely. A few birds took flight from the underbrush. Dew added, "Your mentors will be great men of renown, and your friends the heroes of tomorrow. Yes, great things are in store for you Diarmuid."

Dew whirled around towards the seemingly empty forest. "You can come out now. By all means, you're embarrassing yourselves. A pack of oxen could slip more quietly through the brush than fully armored Dozelian soldiers."

One by one, heavily armored axeman after axeman came clambering out of the woods, stumbling over stumps and getting caught on branches. The leader stepped forward, a young man with hearty mutton-chops. "Hoho, very well, seems you have caught us. Or perhaps, more accurately, it is _we_ who have caught _you._" The troupe closed in and brandished their axes. "We've heard the whole of it. You're none other than Dew, associate of Sigurd the traitor, and you carry with you Diarmuid, son of Beowolf, also of the evil band." The leader was quite red in the face from the strain of ambling through the forest and spewing these names. "We'll be taking you in for questioning. I believe Belhalla will reward us handsomely for such a prize!"

As he spoke and the armored troops advanced, Diarmuid huddled close to Dew, cowering in fear. Dew, on the other hand, seemed as composed as if someone had commented on the weather. He nonchalantly unshouldered his pack and laid his cloak on the ground, grasping a single bundle in his hand. He dexterously shook off the cloth, revealing a gleaming scabbard, which was also quickly yet gently discarded.

"Aaaall right, fellas. You know, I have a sword of my own, but Ayra's is simply a lot better. I've had some practice with it, so I think this is gonna go really well." He flicked the Brave Sword casually in his hand. "Look, I know you gentlemen are just doing your job. I can sympathize. But, unfortunately, you know of my existence and his as well," gesturing to the boy. "Further, you know our location. So, I'm so sorry, but I'll need you out of the picture. Diarmuid, out of the way. Close your eyes, too."

Diarmuid crouched down, closing his eyes tight, and the Thief Fighter made quick work of the troupe. The eight or so soldiers fell easily in a flurry of blows, the sword finding its way between chinks in armor and into vitals. Within a few minutes, they had all fallen. Dew took the boy by the hand, guiding him with eyes still closed. "That's right, Diarmuid, keep it coming." Dew had suffered a minor cut down the left side of his back where an axe had grazed him, and he winced in pain every other step. He set the boy out of sight of the dying men, went and retrieved his things, re-bound Ayra's sword, and soon the two were off once again, leaving behind the corpses on the trail.

It was long after nightfall when they reached the abbey. A pair of torches guided visitors to the entrance, but besides that, both the abbey and the surrounding village seemed deathly quiet. Dew cautiously approached the door. He gave a soft knock. "Edain? Fand?" He didn't want to wake anybody, and it _was_ rather late . . . he took a glance at the lock, just wondering to himself if he _could _pick it. It was a simple lock, the kind he was used to. If anything, it was too easy to pick. With one swift motion, the door was unlocked. Still, he didn't want to surprise anyone. He knocked softly again, calling for the women. No answer.

"Well, Diarmuid, no need to make a fuss. We'll just let ourselves in and greet them in the morning."

He softly swung the door open, letting Diarmuid in, then shutting it firmly behind him. When he spun around, he saw a whole set of small swords pushed in his face, wielded by a bunch of . . . young children?

"State your business!" Cried one. He was tallest among the five children and had blue hair.

Dew put his hands in the air, half-mockingly. "Of course! You must be Seliph. You know, the semblance to old Sigurd sure is remarkable. You know, I'm an old friend of your Father."

"He's not Seliph! I'm Seliph!" pined a smaller child, also with blue hair. Dew must have spoken hastily. Now that he looked again in this low light, the first child almost nothing like Seliph beyond the blue hair. If anyone, he looked like-

"Midir! Midir's your father!" Dew explained, suddenly getting dramatic flashbacks to the sickeningly saccharine lovey-dovey exchanges between the bow knight and his lady, the priestess Edain. "You must be Lester. Is your mother about?"

The small swords inched closer to Dew's body, and he leaned back, throwing his arms higher in surrender. Imagine this, the adventurer Dew, killed accidentally by the young kids of his closest friends and allies.

"We'll be asking the questions!" shouted Seliph. Besides he and Lester, there were three dark-haired children. Must be the children of Ayra and of Fand, but one of them is missing . . .

"Gah!" Dew exclaimed exasperatedly. "I'm a friend! I'm Dew the thief! Of Sigurd's army! I'm here to deliver the son of Lachesis and Beowolf, the boy Diarmuid! I've also brought a lot of other stuff!"

"Oh, look who's here!" A feminine voice called from down the hall, a figure robed in white striding down confidently. "Children, put those things away! I told you they're not toys to be played with!"

The children looked conflicted a moment, but lowered their weapons, the dark-haired children glowering at Dew, the boy Lester ashamed for having been scolded by his mother.

"We're not playing-" Seliph protested, but he was cut short.

"Your bedtime was hours ago, enough with the swords and the intimidation or whatever you may be doing. Put the swords away and off to bed! I'll see to Dew, he's an old friend.

Edain looked much older than Dew had remembered, though she was still young. No doubt news of her husband's death had been of a terrible strain to her, and now she had to raise 9 children with only Fand and a few others to help her.

Dew bowed formally, a little awkwardly. "How nice to see you, Edain."

The priestess gave a wry smile, but extended a hand for a kiss, out of politeness and formality. "It must have been a long journey, Dew. How is the boy? Remind me his name?"

"It's Diarmuid. He's been just the best. No complaining, no wandering off or causing problems. Sure it was long, but we made it okay."

Edain put a hand to her forehead. "The boy sounds wonderful, if only we had nine of him. Come along, let's get you to your beds, it's late enough already."

She led them down the hall, rounded the corner, and crossed a broad high-ceilinged chapel, leading the pair deep into the abbey. Another turn, a small flight of stairs, and then-

"Here we are. The two of you will sleep here tonight. We'll discuss your items of interest in the morning."

Diarmuid obediently walked in, but Dew asked, "Wouldn't it be better for him to be with the other children?"

"Not tonight. The lot of them talk all night, keeping each other up. After such a long trip, He'll have a better sleep sharing a room with you. If you have any problems, well, try to tough it out until morning, won't you? I'd appreciate it."

Dew gave a sympathetic smile. "I see how it is, Edain. Sorry to get you out of bed so late at night. We'll see you in the morning.

-III-

"Right, so I of course didn't get EVERYTHING from Belhalla, but I think I got the most important stuff."

A series of weapons and objects lay strew across the table, each separated as best as Dew could by original owner. Bows, axes, and swords, rings, and bands.

"Right, so first things first. Remind me the parents." Dew was scanning the table.

"Yes, of course." Edain cleared her throat. "Lester and Lana are mine and . . . " she bit her lip, then composed herself. "Midir's." She fell quiet once more.

Fand broke the silence. "Um, Creidne and Dalvin are mine and Lex's." She, too, darkened at the thought of her deceased husband.

"Great start," said Dew, eager to move forward. Look, I have Midir's Brave Bow. And this Killer Bow, he also used this, yeah?"

Edain nodded. "It was originally Jamke's, it's of Verdan make, but Midir traded him for a Steel Bow not long after the Agustrian campaign began. Jamke also later bought himself a Silver bow in Silesse." She gestured to the weapon in question. "This must be the very one."

"Perfect! That can go to Febail, then, right?" Dew prompted.

"Yes. But . . . if anything, the bow he should wield would be his mother's, the holy Yewfelle. You have it, I presume?"

"Erm-" Dew knew about the Yewfelle. Edain had carried it across the continent just to deliver it to her long-lost sister. Dew didn't have the heart to tell her that he had found no trace of the bow nor of Brigid. "Let's come back to that. For now, Killer Bow, Brave Bow for Lester. Silver Bow for Febail. What else to we have? You're going to have to be very clear about the four Isaachians, they are easily mixed up for me."

"Right," chimed Fand. "Dalvin and Creidne are mine. So Dalvin has the bright, soft face of a noble Dozelian, and Creidne's kind of the same way. Compare that to the ruggedness of the Isaachian face."

Dew just gave a blank look. "That doesn't help me much."

"My Creidne's much more of a tomboy, like Ayra, while her Larcei is more peaceful and dainty, like me."

"Great, more confusion. Let me put it like this." Dew picked out a few swords. "This silver blade was Chulainn's. He also wielded this axe. He said it was good for throwing. That'll go to his boy. Larcei had a whole slew of swords, but here's the ones that managed to survive. Her signature sword, given by Chulainn at some point, if I recall correctly, he sacked it from Mackily or Augusty or some such place. That, and we also have this beauty." He unraveled a heretofore untouched bundle, and Edain gasped. The simple scabbard bore intricate patterns and runes, and Dew cracked the hilt, revealing the sacred blade. "Neat, huh? I actually was-"

"Where did you get that sword, Dew?" Edain demanded.

Dew was taken aback. "Well, that's what I was about to explain." Edain looked a bit too concerned for Dew's liking. "Now, you're not going to like this Edain. You may not believe me. But I swear this, and I swear this on Sigurd's grave, and you know how seriously I take that. I. Did. Not. Steal. This. Sword. I went and visited the Bragi Tower, and this sword was specifically given to me to be wielded in the fight against evil. I was warned that it would be necessary in the coming days." He looked at Edain. "I know you suspect me. But please, I swear I'm telling the truth. Now, I've got no reason to steal this blade, because you know as well as I do that I can't wield it. You need Holy Blood to do that. This can be a great weapon for Larcei."

"No, Dew." Edain rejected flatly. "This is the Bragi Sword. It's the Holy Sword blessed by the Crusader himself. It's true, it would be possible to bestow it upon a mortal, but such a responsibility would be a grave one. You can't just give it away as if it were some family heirloom."

"Look, I'll consult Claud, I'm sure it will be just dandy. Let's just set it aside for now. Now, for Dalvin, Lex left behind a whole pile of axes. I only managed to grab this Silver one, it seemed like the best. Oh, there was also this heavy one, how could I forget this. I mean, I've seen Lex throw this one, but it seems nearly as heavy as I am. It's in good condition, so I figured I might as well grab it."

"Good eye, Dew, this is a Master Axe, I'm sure Dalvin will wield it splendidly. He has the mark of minor Neir Blood, after all."

"Right, who have we got left? Oh, yes, Beowulf's sword and his halberd can go with Diarmuid. And that should just about do it."

"What about Patty?" asked Edain.

"Patty, yes, of course. She doesn't have major blood, does she?"

"No, just minor blood of Ulir."

"Right, so listen. About Patty." Dew took a deep breath. "I've got a lot of input on the issue. I mean, I've been in contact with Lachesis, Finn, Claud, Erinys, you know, like, everyone. They all seem to agree that having all the children here is a little risky, and I've already found a nice orphanage in Manster to take them. Look, I know the world is counting on Febail because he's the inheritor of Ulir or whatever, but the fact is that the Yewfelle's missing, Edain. It's missing. It disappeared with Brigid. We can hope she's still out there somewhere and that she still has it, but no luck so far, so honestly, I think the safest bet is to keep at least some of the children out of danger." Edain looked like she was trying to wrap her head around what Dew was saying. "Look, Lester and Lana are your children. If you want to train them for war, fine, whatever. Same goes for you, Fand. But Febail and Patty are Brigid's children. I know you're next-of-kin for them, their aunt, Edain, but it makes sense to keep them safe. Or imagine if, gods forbid, your hiding place here in Tirnanog was found out. Febail could be our ace-in-the-hole. I mean, the most important pieces to defeating Emperor Arvis would be reinstating the true inheritors of the dukedoms, and the only two of those we have on hand are Seliph and Febail, so better to keep them safe and keep them separate. Oh, yes, we also have Shannan, but, I mean, come on, he's nearly coming of age himself."

Edain paused to think. She turned her back to Dew and paced a few paces. "Where are you taking them in Manster?"

"There's an orphanage in Connaught. We've got a great guy there, knows Sigurd and Quan. He can oversee their orphanage as a benefactor. Just say the word, and I'll take them away."

"You said the Yewfelle's gone? And Brigid with it?"

Dew sighed. "We've got no leads. It seems like she and it both vanished from the battlefield." Edain didn't respond. "Can I take them tomorrow? It'll give them a chance to pack and say goodbye."

Edain spun round again. "Yes. It's a good plan. You're right about Febail's claim to Jungby. If you really do have a safe place for them, take them there."

Dew smiled, relieved. "That you for understanding, Edain. Plus, this will ease your workload a little. I bring one, but take two, your children go down to only eight."

"Mmm. It's not so bad. Fand and Oifey help out, and Shannan's also getting to that age. They're all good friends and good children, they help each other out."

"Good. I'm glad. Store these weapons and bands and rings someplace safe. When they're ready, this will be exceedingly important for any kind of revolution. The great weapons of the heroes of yesteryear. Our future is in their hands."

"I know, Dew. By the gods, I know it. Oh, like I said, and don't forget, take the Bragi Sword to Claud. He'll know what to do with it."

The next morning, Dew said goodbye to the children, gathered his now-much-lighter pack, took two new children by his side, and set off down the dirt road back towards civilization. He made a mental checklist of what he needed to do.

"Right, first to Edda. I've got to talk with Claud about the Bragi Sword. I swear, he may just say, "Oh yes, give it to Larcei, that should be just fine,' wouldn't that be rich. Listen you two." He took each child by a shoulder. "You're in a big, scary world now. Febail, everyone knows you'll be an archer, in fact, king of the archers, but that's gonna take some time. For now, just practice, practice, practice. For you, Patty, I think I can teach you some thief skills. That should be good for at least some self-sufficiency and whatnot." The girl whined something about not wanting to be a thief, but Dew shrugged it off. Small build, and long, nimble fingers of her archer heritage. She would make a great thief.

The sun rose before them, and if someone were watching, they'd see the silhouette of a Master thief and two small children at his side, brother and sister, a boy and a girl, part of the future and hope of Jugdral.


	4. Chapter 4

"_La-la-loo, La-la-loo,_"

The stone walls of the High Priest's chambers always made Sylvia's singing sound eerie. It felt as though her own voice betrayed her. She had learned to live with, though. She had heard from some women that it was important for children to hear their parents' voices. Sylvia had to do the work for both she and her husband.

Claud had been silent since Belhalla. He still managed to communicate through his writings, and she and he shared some gestures and signs for rudimentary terms. _Good. Bad. Sad. Tired. I Love You. Lene._ And now, _Coirpre._

Sylvia hummed to herself, clutching her little boy to her chest. The infant fussed at times but was mostly calm.

Edda was the first home Sylvia had ever known, but she had never truly grown accustomed to the opulent and grand temple that she called her home. Luxuries like ornate furniture, extravagant sheets, and fancy dinners had never meant anything to her. Ever since Belhalla . . .

She always had to turn her thoughts away from that day. She had a method. If she ever thought of Belhalla, she would turn her head to the right and concentrate on whatever object she saw. She would memorize it and describe it in agonizing detail. This would take her mind off that fateful day.

Sylvia knew almost every inch of the Bragi Church by now.

Sylvia had never been quite the same. Is it surprising? Such an innocent girl, married to a saintly man, witnessed the slaughter of her closest friends, accompanied by horrifying sights and smells of sulfurous stones falling from the heavens. To this day, smells and thuds were enough to send shivers down her spine.

Her greatest joy had been Claud and her two children. Now, finally, it had been almost five years since Belhalla. Her second child had been born, and perhaps some normalcy had finally returned to her life.

In the candlelight, she gently rocked Coirpre. He had fallen asleep.

A little one toddled through the open doorway. "Mom!" In a moment, Lene was at her mother's heels. "Mommy!"

"Shh, you'll wake your brother!" Sylvia chided in a whisper. "How are you, my sweet?" She reached down and tousled her daughter's thick hair.

"Good," Lene said, giving the accompanying hand sign. "Daddy says you have a- someone to- visit."

"A visitor? Great, I'll just finish rocking Coirpre, I'll be there in about five minutes." Lene nodded in understanding, then scampered off.

Gently, Sylvia rocked the boy for just a minute or two more, then set him in his bed. Sylvia beamed at her sleeping boy. He seemed to be loveliest thing Sylvia had ever seen. Eventually, she relented her gaze, and left to meet the visitor.

She strode down the hallways of the Bragi Church. The sun had already set, but lamps lined the walls, shedding generous light through the temple. She rounded a last corner and entered the foyer.

"Sylvia!" A familiar voice greeted her. "Boy, how you've changed!"

A blonde young man stood with Claud. He had a large pack on his back and two blonde children at his side.

"Dew!" Sylvia barked. "These can't be yours!"

"What?" Understanding dawned on Dew's face. "Oh, the children! No, they're _definitely_ not mine. They're Brigid and Jamke's. Come meet them. This is Febail," gesturing to the boy, "and Patty," the girl.

"Well, the poor things look exhausted, and no wonder – you walked all the way from Isaach?"

"Yes, well, we hitched a ride on a few carts, and we traveled in a caravan through the Yied desert. Boy, that was dangerous! I thought for sure we'd get found out. But, luckily, I don't think anybody saw their marks – the mark of Ulir is concealed easily enough anyway. I mean, you don't often go parading around with your left shoulder exposed-"

"Well, why did you take them from Isaach in the first place?"

Claud was standing idly aside. He was more than used to not being included direct in conversation, and he was content to stand and listen, leaning on the Valkyrie staff for support.

"Right, so, look at it this way. Who can bring down the empire? It has to be somebody of Crusader heritage, right? So, the children we have lined up are Seliph, of course, Sigurd's son. Ced is Lewyn's son, he's in Thove. And we have Febail. We want to keep him separate as a contingency plan. Say Tirnanog gets found out. The Dozelians go in smashing stuff, steal away all the kids. We still have Febail on stowaway. Plus, I've got it all figured out, there's this orphanage in Connaught. There's a guy who knows Quan and Sigurd. We can trust him."

Dew unslung his pack as Sylvia turned to the children. "Let's get you two a nice warm bath, then we can get you to bed.

Patty started to cry. "No bath!" she moaned, and Febail likewise bore an exhausted visage. "Do we have to?"

"All right, fine, bed first, we'll get a bath tomorrow." Sylvia made a mental note to find a servant later to change the sheets, and she shooed the children into a guest bedroom. In moments they were curled up together, and Sylvia returned to the foyer.

"Like I said, Sylvia, and like I was telling Claud, you really have changed." Dew gestured to her outfit. "I imagine you don't dance as much, judging by your outfit."

Sylvia looked down at her dress. She wore a billowy, modest gown of purest white. Now that she thought back on her dancing days, she wondered how she had lived with her midriff and shoulders uncovered. The nuns would have a fit if they had seen her like that.

Sylvia gave a sigh. "It's true, I'm not the fun-loving ball of energy you might remember me as." She slid over to Claud, who welcomed her touch, draping his arm around her shoulder as she tucked her head underneath his. "I guess that's what love does to you."

"Oh, don't start. It's like Edain and Midir all over again!" Claud started wheezing. He was unable to laugh, but he had a silent wheeze that Sylvia had learned to enjoy, and it brought on a chuckle from her, too. "I mean, come on!" Dew continued. "You guys remember." He did a pose and batted his eyes, "My lady, my dearest lady, your laughter is a chorus of angels, and your sneeze the thing of dreams." Claud's wheezing slowly subsided. _Good,_ he motioned repeated. _Very good._

"He says you're right," Sylvia passed to Dew. "Is Edain well?"

"As well as you can be when you're raising nine rambunctious children. Well, eight now, so hopefully that makes it easier on her."

"Eight? Didn't you take two off of her hands?"

"Yeah, I just brought her Lachesis's boy. Between you and me, I think it was Finn who made that call. Didn't want to raise Beowolf's son."

"Dew! What a horrible thing to say!" Claud likewise motioned, _bad, wrong_.

"Well, whatever the reason, they entrusted to me to take him and a plethora of weapons up to Isaach for the children. It was quite the haul." Dew reached for the pack. "Including," he fumbled with some loops, and finally got a long package free. "This."

He slid a hilt and part of a scabbard out of the wrapped cloth. It was an intricate sword with remarkable workmanship, but Sylvia didn't recognize it. She looked to Claud. His eyes were wide. _Holy_.

"He says it's holy."

"Right? That's what Edain told me. Said it was Bragi's Sword."

Claud shook his head, and made a 'laying on of hands' motion. "He says it's not Bragi's, it was blessed by Bragi." Claud again shook for, _No_, then motioned, _Church, priests._ "It was blessed by the priests of Bragi."

"Oh, so it's not one-of-a-kind, then? Interesting." Dew slid the sword back in its scabbard, a sly look on his face.

Claud motioned for quill and paper. Ever since Belhalla, the church was sure to stock some in every room to aid their High Priest, and Claud quickly obtained them. Soon, he had scrawled – _The Bragi Sword. It is forged by priests, then blessed. I only know of one such sword, though it is possible to make more._

"Well, then, let's make a hundred, or a thousand!" Exclaimed Dew. "They'll be perfect for defeating Arvis."

A few more scribbles. _The forging process is lost._

"Well, that's unfortunate," hummed Sylvia. "What should be done with the sword? Claud, will you wield it?"

_No._ Claud shook his head. He wrote again. _Lewyn._

"Lewyn?" Dew's jaw dropped. I've been from Leonster to Isaach, now I'm in Edda, I've yet to go to Connaught, and after that's all said and done, you want me to go _back _to Silesse?"

_No._ More writing. _Priests go there. I'll send it._

"Can you trust them to deliver it safely?"

Claud nodded ponderously.

"All right, well, I'm not complaining. Once these errands are done, I think I'll head back to Agustria. That's my homeland, after all. Well, as much as any place can be a home for a guy like me. No folks, no family. Maybe I'll find someone nice and settle down – put my thieving days behind me."

Claud nodded emphatically. "That sounds lovely, Dew," said Sylvia. "For now, why don't we get you a bath and you can get some sleep? How long do you think you'll stay?"

Dew yawned and stretched. "It's less than a week or so's journey from here to Leonster on foot. We'll stop at Pairse tomorrow night, that should only take us 7 hours to get there. Let's leave an hour or two after noon."

"Very good. I'll draw you a bath right away."

-II-

"So long, Dew! Thank you for all you've done!" Sylvia waved good-bye, and then leaned over towards Lene. "Can you say 'bye-bye'?"

"Bye-bye," Lene waved a little fist.

"So long!" Dew shouldered his pack, waved, and grinned broadly. "Gods willing, we'll meet again!" Patty and Febail also waved.

"Gods willing!" replied Sylvia, and the trio had set off on their journey.

Sylvia, Claud, and Lene retreated into the foyer, Coirpre in Sylvia's hands. Claud motioned down the hall. Sylvia and Lene followed. The family approached a meditation room, a small, brightly-lit room with a desk, some chairs, some books, and a table. Claud motioned to dismiss Lene, also giving an _I love you._

"I love you, too, Daddy," managed Lene, and she scampered off.

Claud sauntered into the room, gesturing to close the door.

Sylvia cradled Coirpre with one arm and pushed the door shut with the other, then found a seat at the table, where Claud was writing carefully. "Is everything all right, dear?"

_No._ He continued writing, then, _enemies_.

_Enemies?_ Sylvia thought to herself. No use asking. She let Claud finish his work, and for a few seconds, the only noise was Coirpre's breathing and the scratch of quill on parchment. Finally, Claud was finished, and slid the note to Sylvia.

_The cult of Loptyr is growing. They are behind Arvis. They seek my life, and the life of Coirpre. Edain was right to send the children away. We must do the same._

Sylvia reread the note, then reread it again. She needed to make sure she understood it. She placed her finger on the infant's body, pointing to the mark that indicated his major Bragi Holy Blood. "They want to kill him because he's a descendant of the Crusaders."

_Yes._

"Where will we send them?"

More writing. _Darna. Church orphanage._

For a few moments, Sylvia seemed to sway like a leaf in her seat. Coirpre began to fuss. Sylvia leaned back in the chair and repositioned him. She had a faraway look in her eyes.

Claud, as always, was silent. His lips were pursed, and he averted his gaze from the mother and child.

A minute passed in silence.

Then another.

"Claud," Sylvia's voice was low. "Claud, you can't do this to me. Right when things were-" Her voice caught, and tears welled up in her eyes. "Not my children, Claud." She began to sob.

Claud's eyes were likewise misty. He blinked back the tears and stretched a hand across his brow.

A minute passed, Sylvia's sobs echoing eerily in the stone room.

Scratching on parchment.

_I'm sorry, my heart._

Slowly, Sylvia's sobs gave way to ragged breathing. "When? When would they go?"

_Enemies here,_ Claud motioned, then frantically wrote, _They are already in the Church. We must take them by the end of the month._

"He's still nursing, Claud! You can't take my boy when he's nursing. And little Lene isn't five years old! Let's go live somewhere else. Just leave all this behind. Imagine, a nice little cottage-"

_No,_ Claud's headshake was resolute. _I must fight,_ he scrawled. _DUTY._

"So that's it, then. You'll fight the cult to the death. And what of me, Claud? What of your family? What of your children?"

_They'll be safe,_ came the scribble.

"Safe!" Sylvia rolled her eyes. "A pair sought by an empire and hunted by a rabid cult, with no father to look after them. Safe! The safest thing we could do is flee Edda. Why not go to Silesse? Live with Erinys and Lewyn.

_No,_ came the headshake again. Claud took a fresh sheet of paper. Minutes passed, with no noise but Sylvia's deep breaths and the scratch of quill on parchment. Claud finally blew on the page to dry it, then passed it to his wife.

_Nobody can fight this threat but me. If I don't fight now, they'll become powerful enough to resurrect their fell God and plunge the world into darkness. If that happens, only 12 descendants of the 12 Crusaders, including that of Naga, could defeat them. As you know, the blood of Naga (Deirdre) is in the palm of their hand. If I don't fight now, the world may be lost._

Sylvia let the paper slip from her hand, and Claud took it once again, and more writing ensued.

_I thought you might stay and help me fight. I was foolish to ask so much of you. Take the children and raise them in the orphanage._

"Claud, you know I want to be by your side, and you know I would lay down my life for you! But my life wouldn't be the only one I lay down – our children's lives are at stake as well."

Claud reclined in his chair, and suddenly he seemed very old. Sylvia looked at his sad face. Doubt and fear seemed to flit across his tender eyes. Suddenly, his face seemed to firm up, and the serene look of the high priest was reformed. _Ah, Sylvia, _he mouthed. With a motion, _Love is hard._ Then he motioned, _Death is easy. _He took the first page, and again circled his large-print word. _DUTY._

"To hell with your duty! What about your duty to your family?"

_My duty to the world is greater,_ came the written reply.

And that was the end of it.

-II-

"Hurry!" Sylvia called to the cart's driver. "They'll be on our tail in moments!"

Sylvia was hunkered in the back of an open cart, dressed in a heavy plain traveler's cloak. Her children, a few Church confidants and two of their children, disguised as civilians, also lined the back. Claud's Valkyrie Staff was wrapped and hidden among packs. Two horses drew the cart across the cobbled roads of Edda, seemingly an unremarkable cart for cross-city travel.

"If I make a break, we'll reveal ourselves, Matron," the driver whispered back. "Stay calm and keep your head down. We just need to make it to the north gate.

Sylvia stilled her tongue, but her sinking feeling wouldn't go away. She tried to keep her head down, but her eyes instinctively darted toward each lone horseman, fearing one could be a pursuer.

They had left early in the afternoon, a perfect time for cover. The streets teamed with people and bustled with carts, horses, and livestock. Market was ending, meaning the peasantry without the city was returning home and the consumers were likewise finishing their purchases. The air was filled with the din of human voices, lowing livestock, and the occasional shriek of some woman or child.

It was through this throng the cart passed, and it seemed on every face Sylvia saw the malicious intent of some evil cultist. She shook her head. Her mind was playing tricks on her. It couldn't be so. The city was _not_ overrun with Loptyrians. Absolutely not.

Progress slowed as the crowd got more congested, and Sylvia's heart started to beat faster. She glanced behind the cart. Two men on horses – one brown and the other a mottled black. Could those be the pursuers? Was she just paranoid?

Coirpre gave a weak cry. Sylvia felt immediately guilty – she knew her boy was very responsive to her moods. Increase in heartbeat could set him off for minutes. She hefted him onto her shoulder and cooed to him, but his crying continued.

"He wants Daddy," offered Lene. "He wants to go home."

"Shh, shh," Sylvia gave a reassuring smile. "We are going home. To our new home."

"He wants to go to the old home," said Lene glumly.

"What about you? Do you want to go to the old home?"

Lene thought about it. "Yes," she said simply.

"I do, too, my sweet. But enemies were coming to our old home. Our new home won't have any enemies."

Lene seemed to accept the explanation.

The crowd was beginning to thin now, and as Sylvia looked back, she only saw the one lone rider on the brown horse. Perhaps they weren't being followed after all.

The heat of the sun beat down on the open cart. The din of the crowd rumbled all around, and Coirpre kept fussing.

Finally, the road grew clear enough to pick up the pace. The driver urged the horses into a trot, and the cart began to draw away from the crowd.

"Stop! Stop there!"

A hoarse cry came from behind the cart, and Sylvia glanced back. An exhausted man jogged up, wearing the crest of the Valkyries, the staff-wielding guard of Edda. "Stop, cart! In the name of the seat of Edda, stop!"

The driver reluctantly acquiesced, pulling the cart to a stop. Discreetly as she could, Sylvia handed off Coirpre to the woman beside her, and he immediately began to cry. She also pushed Lene across the cart to sit beside a man.

The Valkyrie stumbled up, clearly out of breath from pushing through a crowd and jogging in the hot sun. He gave a weak salute to the driver. "Faolan of the Valkyries, sir. I'm on orders from the Church of Bragi. We received word that Father Claud's children have been abducted, we've got the order to search every cart for them."

"Abducted?" The driver feigned concern. "By all means, search away. That's terrible news."

Sylvia covered her face with a mask and pretended a cough. She didn't know this Valkyrie, but their squadron reported directly to Claud, so it wouldn't be any stretch of the imagination to say he would recognize her.

Coirpre continued to cry as the exasperated sister tried to calm him. "Quite the pair of lungs on him, eh?" commented another passenger, trying to be nonchalant.

Faolan approached the back of the cart. Besides Lene and Coirpre, there was another little girl a little older than Lene and an infant girl Coirpre's age, the two other children there to give some cover.

Faolan seemed generally disinterested and most certainly tired. "Right, so I'm looking for a-" He produced a paper with his orders. "A brown-haired girl of 4 or 5 who bears the minor mark of Bragi, and a blonde boy of a few months with the major mark of Bragi." He scanned the cart. "You there," he said, gesturing to Lene.

Lene looked to her mother for guidance, but Sylvia faked a coughing fit and averted her gaze. Lene stood and walked to the back of the cart. The man who she had sat with spoke up. "Sir, I assure you, this is my daughter, but how will you know I speak the truth?"

"I'll check for the mark of Bragi," replied Faolan, obviously a little uncomfortable.

The man snagged Lene's arm. "Absolutely not. You know the mark of Bragi appears in a private area."

Faolan gritted his teeth. "I'm just doing my job, sir. I don't like it any more than you do."

The man's wife responded, "How do we even know you're really a Valkyrie, and not some sick pervert? How could Claud's children have even been abducted under the Valkyries' watch?"

"Look, I don't know anything about that," Faolan was exhausted and exasperated. "I'm just under orders to check all the children I see, okay?"

"A likely story!" The man shot back. "Look at my girls," he urged his actual daughter rise. "The two look nothing like Claud, and though I've never seen his children, surely this is enough."

Faolon seemed to toss the idea around in his head. The last thing he wanted to do was get in a fight with a civilian because he had to check a child's private area. A word from the cart could have the whole city block on board to beat Faolan up. He looked at the two girls. Did they look like Claud? Well, they looked like 5-year-old Eddan girls. That didn't really help.

"All right, just let me see the infants, and I might okay you to go."

The sister turned the crying Coirpre to Faolan, and another sister showed her own infant girl.

"Why's your baby crying, ma'am?" Faolan asked, rubbing his right temple.

"It's the noise, sir, and the heat. It really gets to the little ones."

"And to me, too," said Faolan, mopping his brow. He paused to think, then decided it wasn't worth the trouble. "You're fine to move along. Just- just, nothing, just be on your way."

"May Naga guide your quest and return those children to safety," murmured the driver, and he snapped at the reigns."

-III-

Days passed, and the cart rolled along. They stopped at inns, but more than once slept in the cart. Days turned to weeks, until finally they arrived at Fort Melgen, the last major resting area until Darna. In Melgen, most of the others departed, leaving the driver, Sylvia, and her children. Another followed on horseback few leagues behind to protect the rear.

The four set out across the rugged landscape of the southern Yied, not nearly as treacherous as the north, but still dry and desolate. Towering mountains crowded the view to the west, and to the east, it seemed an eternal expanse of Yied.

The road was easy to follow, and few other travelers interrupted their journey. The blazing sun grew hotter daily, and soon the company took to resting during the hottest hours of the day and starting again when the sun began to set.

Every so often they'd come to some oasis town. They passed a small village with a church in the foothills of the mountains, then the open road to Darn began.

It had been months since they had first left Edda, and two weeks from their last stop at the village, when a galloping rider approached from the south.

The horse frothed at the mouth and nearly collapsed when the rider brought it abreast the cart. "Lady Sylvia!" the man managed hoarsely. Sylvia gasped at the sight of him. She knew the signs. The man had been assailed by dark magic.

The man's flesh in one arm seemed to have disappeared nearly entirely, leaving what looked like skin stretched across bones. What was left seemed blackened and festering in places. The man was gaunt, his eyes sunken and rimmed with bags.

"What happened to you, man! What has become of you!"

The man wheezed. He was dying, Sylvia could tell. "Been following . . . vanguard . . ."

"You're Rense? You were watching our tail- you were attacked?"

Rense nodded. His face was so gaunt and drained that he barely seemed recognizable. His horse's knees shivered, and the beast seemed like a stiff breeze would disintegrate it.

"Loptyrians . . . horseback . . . run!" He urged out the last word, and slumped on his horse.

The driver uttered an oath. "If he's not dead, he soon will be." He leapt from the cart and began undoing the cart horse's harness. Sylvia and her children clambered from the back.

"What do we do?"

"Take Rense's saddle and saddlebags. Ride as hard as you can to Darna. You should be able to make it in three days if you pace yourself but ride hard."

"But what about you?"

The driver slid the dying man from the saddle and moved quickly to undo the straps. "I'll hold them off for as long as I can."

Swiftly the saddle had been transferred and the bags loaded on the cart's horse.

"Now, this cart horse wasn't made for hard riding. It's more of a pack horse. But, it's the best we've got. Like I said, pace yourself, but ride hard."

Sylvia handed him Coirpre, mounted the horse, then the driver handed up the babe and Lene. The water keg was quickly spilled to let off some weight, and the remainder along with a handful of rations were secured on the horse, as well as the wrapped Valkyrie Staff, Coirpre's inheritance.

"May the ancestor and the Great God Naga protect you, Sylvia."

"Thank you. I'm sorry."

"I knew what I was getting myself into. It is an honor to give my life to protect the future of Jugdral."

With that, he gave the horse a smack on the rump, and Sylvia urged it into a brisk trot.

Night came soon, and then the morning. Hour after hour was spent on the agonizing chase, interrupted only by moments to drink or for Lene to relieve herself. Morning turned to day and afternoon, and Sylvia and the horse were both exhausted, but still she dared not stop. When the sun set, Sylvia's eyes became too heavy, and they were forced to rest. Anxiously she stumbled to the side of the road, cursing her frail mortality, but she took heart in the hope that the Loptyrians likewise would need a rest.

It was long before dawn when Sylvia snapped herself awake off the dusty ground, gathered her children as best she could, and ascended onto the horse once more. The trot was resumed, and the violent sun greeted them with a ferocious red.

Sylvia tried to rest and relax as best she could atop the beast, but when night had fallen, she was still exhausted. She determined to continue on. They had reached the plateau, and Darna must nearly be in arm's reach.

On a whim, she looked over her shoulder, and in the dying light, at the edge of her vision, she thought she saw a band of riders . . . four? She squinted. Five? She definitely wasn't imagining it. The riders were on her tail, less than an hour from her current position.

She couldn't stop now. She urged her poor horse up the plateau, ascending the winding path that guided travelers to Darna. The horse wheezed and gasped in protest, but continued on all the same.

The sun had set by the time they had crested the plateau, and the ramparts and spires of Darna were in view. As fast as she could muster, she drove her horse towards the gates of the famed city. She approached the gates to find the portcullis shut. She slowed her horse to a standstill.

"Who goes there?" called a voice from the guard tower.

"I plead sanctuary!" cried Sylvia. "Sanctuary for the widow and her children! I'm being pursued!"

A guard descended the steps, and Sylvia dismounted the horse, gathering Coirpre and the bundled Valkyrie Staff in her arms, with Lene close at hand.

The reinforced guard tower door opened, and the Darna night watchman strode out. "What seems to be the trouble, miss?"

"Please, my children and I are hunted. We need to get to the Church at once."

"Name?"

"Please, sir, my identity is what put me in danger."

The guard's mouth twitched. "Honestly, ma'am, if it were up to me, I'd let you in in a heartbeat. However, rules is rules. I can't let anyone in after curfew unless they are a citizen of Darna."

"What do you expect me to do? Camp out here all night?"

"We expect you to come during the day," the guard tutted. "Here's what I'll do. I'll let you in the guard tower, and we'll have a man watch you tonight, and in the morning, we'll let you in the city. Sounds fair?"

"Fair, fair, just let me in," pleaded Sylvia, and she and the children followed the guard into the tower.

Mother and children rested on the stairs at night, and Lene and Coirpre had soon drifted off to sleep.

Sylvia sat awake and shuddering, worried that every little noise would mean the approach of the Loptyrians. Time seemed to stand still. How much time had passed? Half an hour? An hour? Two? The peace of night was finally disturbed by the rumble of the pawing of hooves on the ground. It was them, It must be.

Sylvia heard the muffled call of the watchman and the raspy response of the horsemen. Their conversation lasted not half a minute before the watchman began to descend the stair, his footsteps padding as if trying to escape detection.

Fear again gripped Sylvia. What if- no, it couldn't be. Then again, why couldn't it? She held Coirpre in her left hand, and in her right, she gripped the hilt of her magic sword, the Safeguard given to her in Silesse.

The padding steps approached, and Sylvia pivoted to face the approaching watchman. He rounded the spiral staircase, and he had a sword drawn.

The watchman tried to appear nonchalant. "Ma'am, this has all been a big misunderstan-"

The words caught in his throat as in one swift motion, Sylvia had drawn her sword and engaged the man.

"Gah! They were right. I should have known from the start you're the wife of the wretch Claud, and these his spawn. Better late then never, right?" She parried his blows. "You know what they say," he said, swinging wildly.

He would have made a clean cut, but the magic of the sword hardened her skin and the blade glanced off her arm. The guard's eyes widened in shock as the sword glanced, leaving him wide open. Sylvia buried her sword in the man's gut, the space underneath the breastplate. The sword dropped from his hands and the man slumped. "Come, Loptyr," he whispered. Sylvia shifted the body and let it fall off the blade down the stairs. She urged Lene to her feet, and the trio ascended the stairs as quick as they could. At the top, they found a second watchman, sleeping. No doubt the two were partners, and traded watches. Sylvia hurried her children along the wall, and down the stairs into the city. She heard the raspy voice of the Loptyrian horsemen without the wall, and she heard the second watchman start awake, but she urged Lene onwards and carried her children into the city into the night.

Sylvia knew the watch would be at her heels any moment. Even if only the first man was a cultist, all the others would want her for his murder. There was no escape now. Not for her. But she could get her children to safety.

She stumbled through the streets of Darna, only generally aware of where the Church and orphanage were located. She ducked through alleyways and tried to stay as concealed as she could. The three took a side street, and too late she saw the torch and the hand that held it coming down the cross-street.

"Hey!" exclaimed the watchman, rounding on the three. "Who goes there?"

Sylvia turned to flee. "What's wrong, miss? Sleeping on the street tonight? That's no way to live! Why not head to the Church?"

Sylvia hesitated. "The Church, I've been afraid to go, for I'm a sinner."

The watchman had kept his distance, remaining at the entrance of the side street. "What will do the sinner good is a night in the Church, not a night in the street. Besides, keeping children in the street is surely a more grievous sin. Do what you will, but you really shouldn't be out so late.

The guard turned to go. "Wait!" called Sylvia, and the watchman turned back. "Remind me the quickest way to the Church."

Directions were exchanged, and Sylvia and her children scampered away. The guard had recommended main roads, but were her eyes playing tricks on her? It seemed the main roads had more watchmen than one would expect. Had word of the killing spread so quickly?

Agonizingly slowly, Sylvia ducked from street to street, from alleyway to alleyway, until the side entrance to the Church was in sight. Here was the orphanage, and safety at last for her children.

She approached the door and pounded. Soft light was seen through the window, perhaps a candle. "Let me in!" She called in a whisper-yell, trying to stay discreet as best as she could.

Moments passed, and again she pounded. It seemed like an eternity before she saw the candlelight move. At the same time, she saw a torch approaching from down the street.

The door opened, and an old man in a nightgown and cap appeared. "My child, what brings you to the church so late at night?"

"Please, Father," Sylvia pleaded. "I cannot take care of these children. I entrust them to the care of Lord Saint Bragi." She pushed Coirpre into the waiting man's hands. He seemed a bit taken aback, but entrusting children to the orphanage this way was not especially unusual. Sylvia ushered Lene into the door. "Father, this sword is all that I have. I entrust it to my daughter. This staff is the birthright of my son. Their names are Lene and Coirpre."

"And who are you, child?"

"I am a dancer. I'm just some dancer." Sylvia was crying. "I can't take care of them. I'm sorry." She bent down and kissed Lene. "I'm sorry, Lene. I'm sorry, my sweet. I love you." She made the hand sign. Lene was bewildered and just hugged her mother in return. Sylvia then stood up and kissed Coirpre's forehead.

From the street, she heard the distant call of, "I've found her!"

"They must not find my children, Father. Hide them amongst the others. I'm sorry."

"May Saint Bragi bless you, child, and guide your way," murmured the old man, and the door was closed behind Sylvia.

Sylvia saw three torches advancing towards her at a jog. She turned tail and ran into the night.


	5. Chapter 5

_The belle, she asked her dear Azel,_

_"Where have you gone, my love?_

_The snows of winter came and went,_

_I lie awake at night in Thove,_

_I hope and dream you lay beside me."_

_A message came upon the winds,_

_"Alas, my heart, misfortune's lot_

_Upon us fell in Mackily:,_

_The battlefield our men forsook,_

_Their courage failed, retreat they took,_

_And I was wounded in the fray._

_I yet persist, I must resist_

_The tyranny of evil men._

_To Grannvale hence I carry on,_

_I'll find the men of valiant heart_

_Who'll raise our freedom's banner and_

_Restore our world to harmony._

_I'll write to you again."_

_Then Thunder's daughter asked her spouse,_

_"What keeps you, dear, far from me?_

_Our stronghold's weak, my brother seeks_

_To take be back to Freege, and now_

_I wonder why I haven't heard_

_Good news from your campaign_

_Amongst the heroes of Grannvale."_

_Another message came anon,_

_"I must confess, my men have gone,_

_Four hundred Jungbyites I raised_

_Three hundred came from Dozel's lands,_

_From Edda's keep five hundred more_

_And eight from Chalphy's fertile fields._

_Two thousand stirred across the land,_

_But rude disorder ruled our band,_

_We couldn't challenge openly,_

_The Beigenritter were always at us,_

_And one by one the men grew weary."_

_"A year it's been since I've been here,_

_A summer come and now another,_

_I long to hold you in my arms once more,_

_But with my leaving, so would our cause,_

_We now pursue one final strike,_

_To Grannvale's heart we'll take the fight,_

_My brother I'll confront at last,_

_Expose the cult unto the mass,_

_And if I fail, I'll see you soon,_

_My dear beloved Tailtiu."_

_The lonely mother cried again,_

_"My dear, the summer's at an end,_

_The trees are dying from the cold,_

_Remember, Tine's not four years old,_

_The castle could fall any day,_

_I want to take our kids away_

_And keep them safe in some small town,_

_But I can't do it on my own._

_Is Arvis yet your brother dear?_

_Can you reach his heart and ear?_

_I beg you, leave the foolish task._

_Come back to me, that's all I ask."_

_A message came upon the wind,_

_But not from the brave fire mage,_

_"My lady, I have bad news,_

_Betrayal, rout, befell us all._

_Before he fell,_

_Our Lord Azel_

_Instructed us to send his final words to you: _

_'To my beloved Tailtiu,_

_It was all that I could do,_

_If you hear this, all I can say,_

_I died as I lived, the only way_

_I know how. I tried to do what's right._

_I did not give up the fight._

_Because if I didn't, who else would?  
Who else could crusade for Good?_

_I'm sorry, love. I wish I could_

_Have seen you one last time to say goodbye._

_Keep Arthur and Tine safe._

_One day they may fulfill_

_What I could not._

_Signed, your Azel.'_

_I'm sorry, my lady._

_May the Great God keep you _

_And your children."_


End file.
